


In which Harry visits the owlery a lot, Malfoy does too, Krum loves love, and its all Fay Dunbars fault

by dracorights



Series: The Owlery [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Lovers, Falling In Love, Fluff, Hogwarts Era, Hogwarts Fourth Year, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:14:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 33,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24416452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracorights/pseuds/dracorights
Summary: “What did you say?" asked Ron, bringing a hand to his chin to clean the drops of juice rolling down from it, as he looked at the person responsible for his outburst.Fay Dunbar didn’t seem put off by Ron's shock or the quietness of the room, only giving them all a shrug.“I said Draco Malfoy is quite handsome” she answered nonchalantly.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: The Owlery [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1763239
Comments: 175
Kudos: 1116





	1. October 30, Sunday: The Start

**Author's Note:**

> For reference, I'm mostly following the movie timeline, but including events from the book.

After the eventful dinner at the Great Hall, all Gryffindors grouped back in the common room and started talking about the many things they were dying to talk about.

Rumours about the competition, possible challenges and champions, impressions on the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students, complaints about the age limitation, and more.

Overall excitement ran through the many discussions going on at the late hour. The chatter seemed to never die down, and the groups of discussion became bigger and noisier, probably due to the bottles of Butterbeer and Firewhiskey that had appeared at some point.

But because peace never lasts for Hogwarts students, disaster struck just past midnight, when a girl, who had been gushing to her friends about how attractive the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students were, threw an offhand comment on how sad it was that the guys at Hogwarts _“weren’t like that”._

And that’s how an overblown debate broke out, starting with one of the guys loudly proclaiming the Beauxbatons girls were way prettier than the girls at Hogwarts.

That of course wasn’t well met.

Voices were raised, eyes were rolled, insults were thrown and things started to look very grim for the tranquillity of the lion house.

Harry, who had wisely chosen to remain quietly sited on the rugged floor, was already planning a way to sneak back to the dorm when someone else stood up to save the day.

“Shut up!” commanded Angelina, making every head in the room turn towards her in stunned silence. She held her hands together as if praying. “You are all pretty, okay?! Stop fighting like children.”

“Thanks,” called George with a gleeful grin.

“Not you,” she said drily, earning some laughs from the room.

“Then who?” chimed in Fred with a mischievous smile, that grew when the girl glared at him. “Come on, Angelina. Surely you have some names in mind. Don’t leave us hanging.”

Both guys and girls voiced their strong agreement, whistling and chanting for Angelina to do so. The tall girl shook her head humorously, before letting out a loud huff and glaring at George.

“Fine!”. She gave him a daring smile. “Cedric Diggory is quite fit.”

The girls cheered and giggled, many of them nodding in approval. Some boys groaned, Seamus among them. Angelina sat back down on a chair, giving Fred a pleased smirk.

The red-headed twin bowed his head in mocked gallantry, before giving a name of his own, which Harry didn't recognise.

And so, more names were called, and Harry was once again reminded that the percentage of students of Hogwarts he actually knew was terribly low.

He perked his head up when Dean called Cho Chang’s name and laughed when Fred named the Fat Lady and was rewarded with a fluffy red and gold cushion energetically thrown towards his face.

Harry found himself zoning out for a bit, not really listening to the unfamiliar names being called, nor the snickers and comments of his housemates afterwards. He had just stifled a yawn and started thinking about going to bed when a particular name reached his ears and his attention was almost painfully pulled back.

Luckily in time for him to avoid getting his robes soaked in the pumpkin juice that Ron, who was sitting behind him on a couch, ungracefully spat out of his mouth. Neville wasn’t as lucky.

“Oh, come on,” he said, looking sadly at his stained jumper.

Usually, Harry would have at least given him a grimace of sympathy, if he couldn’t find a napkin. But at that moment he was too busy trying to figure out if what he had heard was real or just his mind messing with him as it had during the summer.

“What did you say?" asked Ron, bringing a hand to his wet chin to clean the drops rolling down from it, as he looked at the person responsible for his outburst.

Fay Dunbar didn’t seem put off by Ron's shock or the quietness of the room, only giving them all a shrug.

“I said Draco Malfoy is quite handsome,” she answered nonchalantly.

“Malfoy?!” exclaimed Ron in bewilderment. “Draco sodding Malfoy? He is a git!”

Fay rolled her eyes and groaned. “I know, right?! It’s not fair he is _so_ good looking.”

“He isn’t!” retorted Ron with not concealed disgust, looking around for support.

To his surprise, only Seamus and a group of the guys agreed loudly. Others, like Harry himself, chose to stay quiet, watching the others as if they were a play.

And a significant portion of the room seemed troubled.

“I mean, she is not wrong,” came a hesitant voice, making everyone turn towards it.

“Are you serious, Lavender?” exclaimed Parvati. “He is a jerk! He made Neville trip yesterday after class!”

“I’m not saying he isn’t,” protested Lavender. “But you can’t deny he is good looking! Like, if you took out-”

“His whole personality?” interjected Ginny.

“It’s a _‘prettier when quiet’_ type of thing,” tried another girl, who was sitting next to Fay.

"Exactly!" exclaimed Lavender, and along with her quite a few heads around the room nodded gravely.

Parvati let out a sigh and raised a hand to her chin, looking like the perfect picture of someone in deep thought.

Everyone seemed to hold their breaths as her face scrunched up almost painfully.

"Bugger" she finally said, sounding surprised. "He is handsome."

"WHAT?!" exclaimed Ron and Seamus.

Around the room, murmurs filled the silence, as fingers were raised to chins and eyebrows were furrowed. Harry could almost hear the minds of his housemates working.

"Wait, so we can name Slytherins too?" said one hesitant student.

"Is that allowed?" blurted another.

"Does this mean I can say Pansy Parkinson is kinda hot?" said a boy, sounding quite relieved.

"Blaise Zabini is quite good looking as well," mumbled a third-year girl shyly.

“Terence Higgs too!”

It was as if a dam was broken. The room was possibly noisier as apparently, half the people in the room had a secret crush on a member of their rival house.

"I'm fine with this, as long as no one mentions Snape," declared Fred, which earned a laugh and eased the atmosphere around the room. The Gryffindors grew braver with each confession, and even those who didn’t share their affections just listened gleefully.

There were still a few that remained put off by the idea. Seamus kept his startled gaze flickering back and forth from the speakers to Dean, who just laughed at every confession. Cormac McLaggen had a look of disgust on his face, openly staring at every speaker and shaking his head in disapproval. And Ron- Harry had to repress a snort because if Ron had pearls like his aunt did, he would certainly be clutching them. His friend seemed startled into silence, freckled face going pale, looking as if he were facing Voldemort and Aragog at the same time.

It was when Romilda Vane dreamily said that Adrian Pucey was quite a catch that Harry took pity on his friend.

He stood up, patting Ron on the shoulder. "Come on, let's go."

Ron followed him upstairs quietly, sitting down on the end of his bed when they reached their dorm, face lost in a mix of confusion, disgust and fear.

Harry himself felt a bit shocked. The antagonism between Gryffindor and Slytherin was, after all, part of Hogwarts natural order. Because Slytherins were sharp calculated words, cold sneers and untraceable sabotage, and Gryffindors were decent human beings. Harry had never heard a single nice comment about a Slytherin from his housemates on his three years.

Until that night, that is.

Harry was already settling under his covers when Ron finally spoke. "Did that really happen?"

"It did, Ron," said Harry as he folded his glasses and rested them on his nightstand.

“Wow.”

“Indeed."

Ron seemed like he wanted to say something, but he just shook his head. “Way too late for this. Night, Harry."

“Night, Ron,” answered Harry. “Dream with pretty Slytherins,” he added because he couldn’t stop himself.

Ron groaned loudly and closed his curtains forcibly, which made Harry feel proud of himself. He closed his own curtains a bit and went to sleep


	2. October 31, Monday: The Worst Halloween Ever

The Great Hall was noisier than usual the next morning, which Harry would have thought impossible but there it was. The presence of the foreign students would probably fill the castle with energy for at least a month before novelty passed. 

Of course, the focus would probably switch to the Tournament itself, so...better to get used to the noise. 

“Seriously, Hermione, you should have been there,” said Ron, eating through his second serving of eggs and toast. “And be the voice of reason among them.”

“I was busy studying. Which you should be doing as well,” replied Hermione, eyes still on a sturdy looking book. “Plus, there is nothing I could have done. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion.”

“But they are insane,” said Ron, voice muffled by toast. “Insane, and blind, and wrong.”

Hermione sighed. Ron had been ranting about last night from the moment they sat down, nearly half an hour ago. She looked up from his book and threw Ron an annoyed look.

“What?” said Ron, biting on a sausage.

“Why does this bother you so much, Ron?” questioned Hermione. “Harry isn’t nearly as mad about it as you."

They both turned to look at him, making him freeze mid chewing a piece of his turkey sandwich. He gulped it down, glancing between their expectant looks. 

He shrugged. 

Hermione smiled. “See? Harry is fine with it.”

“Well, Harry is a house traitor” muttered Ron, narrowing his eyes at him. “I thought we were together in this.”

Harry shrugged again.

Ron angrily munched on a turkey leg. “People these days don’t respect tradition.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “The House separation is just a system, Ron. It was meant to encourage healthy competition, not feuds between students. Many muggle schools do it as well, the difference is that they encourage inter-house unity. Hogwarts has forgotten that part, and instead lets the animosity between houses be overblown to this level.”

Ron seemed scandalised, and last night’s mental picture of him clutching his pearls made Harry snort into his juice. 

“What are you talking about?” Ron whispered harshly, looking from side to side and if scared of others hearing. “Hermione, they are evil. Malfoy and his little gang-”

“I’m not saying they are all nice, Ron. But you can’t tag a whole house as evil.”

“But they all are!”

“Oh, really?” she turned to her left and seemed to look around, before pointing towards the Great Hall entrance. Two young students, probably first or second years, stood by the door side by side. One of them, a girl with a brown ponytail, pointed towards the enchanted ceiling, seemingly explaining something to her friend, a smaller girl with glasses who listened closely, an awed smile on her face. It was a heartwarming scene, despite both of them donning the emerald colours of their house.

“Do they look evil to you, Ron?” said Hermione with a smile, evidently proud of her point.

“Absolutely,” said Harry gravely. “They must be plotting to throw the roof on us.”

Ron wasn’t amused. “Sure, they look innocent now, but in a few years they will be hexing Hufflepuffs and laughing about it.”

“If you treat them like they are evil, then yes, they might start acting that way. People are influenced by expectations. Haven’t you heard of the Pygmalion effect?”

Harry blinked. “The what?”

Ron blinked too. “Isn’t that a sixth-year charm?”

Hermione let out a sigh. “Doesn’t matter. The point is, people become what you treat them as. Case in point, Slytherin students.” Her eyes flickered to a corner, in deep thought. “Do wizards have psychologists?”

Harry shrugged.

Ron seemed lost. “What is a sight-logist? Like a Seer?” He shook his head. “Whatever. Okay, fine. Maybe first-year Slytherins aren’t evil-”

“Maybe?” repeated Hermione.

“-but still. The bigger snakes are, and yesterday a bunch of maniacs in our house were swooning over them!”

Hermione nodded. “I’m honestly appalled by that. Many of the people you said were mentioned last night are just plain awful.”

Ron relaxed and went back to eat, this time biting into a small cake.

“I have to say, I’m disappointed so many of our housemates are so superficial,” continued Hermione. 

Ron chewing became slower. 

“Zabini looks at everyone as if they were dirt under his shoe, Parkinson tells everyone they are dirt under her shoe, and I don’t have to explain _Malfoy_ -”

Harry scooted away from Ron slowly.

“I certainly can’t see why anyone would be attracted to them. Their personalities are rotten, no matter how good looking they might-”

“What?!” spat out Ron, sending pieces of cake flying out. 

_‘There it is,'_ thought Harry.

Hermione wrinkled her nose at that. “Will you ever learn some manners?”

Ron just kept looking at her as if she were crazy. “You find them attractive?”

“Did you listen to a word I _said_?”

“You just _said_ they were good looking.”

“That doesn’t mean I like any of them” stated Hermione. "There's a difference between acknowledging someone's looks and being attracted to them," she said matter-of-factly, nose turned up in defiance. "Which I'm certainly not, for the reasons I already mentioned."

“Even Malfoy? Hermione, do you-” Ron seemed unable to even say the words. “Do you like-”

“Do not finish that question, Ronald Weasley,” cut Hermione coldly. 

Ron didn’t finish it. “Fine. Whatever. But he isn’t good looking!”

Hermione quirked an eyebrow. “No objections about Zabini or Parkinson?”

“I can understand Zabini, his mother- Nevermind. And Parkinson- Fine! Maybe she is not a troll-”

“Not a troll, huh?” said Harry, wiggling his eyebrows.

Ron ignored him. “But Malfoy is a pointy faced bastard! He looks like a pointy albino goblin-troll,” finished Ron, angrily biting a piece of bread.

Hermione’s gaze was calculating, looking at Ron as if he were a puzzle. Harry looked between the two of them, managing to catch the moment realisation hit Hermione’s brown eyes.

“This isn’t about the Slytherins,” she mused, and her face softened. “Ron, you don’t have to feel envious. I-”

Ron choked, his pale face going red. Harry patted him on the back, sliding a glass of water towards him. 

After downing it entirely, Ron spoke with a strained voice. “I’m not- I’m not envious of him. Not another word.”

Hermione pressed her lips. “Fine.”

“But he isn’t good looking!”

Hermione let out a sigh. “We are not going anywhere with this. It’s time to call a third opinion,” she turned towards Harry. “An objective opinion.”

Harry nodded.

Ron and Hermione kept looking at him. 

Harry frowned. “Me? But I hate Malfoy.”

Ron grinned. “Exactly, which is why you will agree with me when I say he looks like one of Lockhart’s pixies.” He threw Hermione an accusatory glance. “And not with _this_ Slytherin apologist."

“In case you have forgotten, I detest Malfoy too,” said Hermione, looking annoyed.

“You like house-elves, so I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Means you like ugly creatures.”

Hermione gasped. “That is absolutely disrespectful, Ronald Weasley. House-elves are the ones that prepare the food you love stuffing on your face, and they do it every day! Their work conditions-”

Harry shook his head, tuning the bickering of his best friends down. His eyes turned towards the Slytherin table, where the origin of their confrontation sat comfortably, talking with some Durmstrang students, fully unaware of the trouble his mere existence caused. 

Hermione had said to remain objective, so Harry stifled his irritation, driven by the mere sight of the bastard, and tried to do just that. Be objective. 

Malfoy was an absolute git - it was a fact-, and his face was very punchable - Still objective, Hermione would definitely agree. His face also was very pointy and very pale, like Ron said. But, unlike what Ron said, he didn’t look like a pointy goblin, because Harry had seen goblins and they were absolutely hideous, with too-large-for-their-face features, too sharp angles and creepy shiny black eyes.

The git’s features were sharp, yes, but in a normal human way that didn’t look bad. One could say they looked alright when he was not sporting his usual sneer, that twisted his features and pissed Harry off. Like at that moment over breakfast, where the git kept his face relaxed as he listened to something one of his friends said, curling his lips into an amused smirk that was not unpleasant to look at.

Maybe pleasant.

Perhaps, a little too pleasant.

“Bugger,” said Harry bitterly, suddenly understanding Parvati all too well. And before he could stop himself he said the rest, “He _is_ handsome.”

He immediately covered his mouth in shock. He turned towards Hermione and Ron slowly, already picturing the face of utter betrayal and disbelief on Ron’s face.

That day, however, luck seemed to be on his side, because Ron and Hermione were still bickering about house-elves and Merlin knows what else. Or, to be more accurate, Hermione was lecturing Ron on the situation of the house-elves, while the ginger groaned into a scone.

Ron caught his eyes on him and grasped on the chance to change the topic with the desperation of a drowning man. “Harry! So?”

Harry nodded, before setting his eyes on Hermione and putting on a serious expression. “Pointy troll. You are insane.”

The pain from a hardcover book hitting his head was a welcomed distraction.

\---

Not unexpectedly, Ron wasn’t the only Gryffindor who had last night’s debate in mind. Harry had seen many of his housemates doing double takes on members of the other houses, Slytherin not excluded. 

During Herbology with the Hufflepuffs, Dean leaned over their table and shared a conspiratorial grin with them. “Neville was right.”

“About what?” asked Ron, happy to look away from the menacing Bouncing Bulbs they were supposed to be working with.

“Hannah Abbott looks much better without the pigtails” whispered Dean.

“Neville said that?” whispered Harry, surprised at the boldness. 

“Not much _'said'_ as _'mumbled'_ , but yes,” said Dean, pointing his chin towards the mentioned boy. 

At first glance, Neville seemed very focused on harvesting his Bouncing Bulbs, but the pink tinge on his cheeks and the furtive glances he kept stealing from Hannah were quite revealing. It was due to luck that said girl hadn’t noticed. 

The rest of the class was uneventful, apart from the rebellious Bouncing Bulb that wriggled free from Harry’s grasp and managed to land a hard smack on his face. Ron, the traitor, didn’t even try to suppress his laugh, which resulted in Hermione chastising both of them for not paying attention. 

Classes after lunch were cancelled because of the Tournament, to give a last chance for prospect participants to throw their names into the fiery goblet. As a result, perhaps half of Hogwarts was gathered at the Great Hall, to see who dared to do so.

After Fred and George were dragged out of the room by Madame Pomfrey sporting long beards, Harry glanced around the room, trying to figure out who else would step forwards. Instead, his eyes crossed paths with a pair of grey ones, which seemed to have been doing the same. The grey eyes seemed startled for a second before the pale eyebrows over them furrowed in suspicion. 

Harry quickly looked away, relieved when Victor Krum entered the room and everyone's eyes turned to him, including the grey ones.

Not much longer after that, the students were pretty much kicked out of the room by the teachers, for the Halloween Feast to be set in place. Harry and the rest of the Gryffindors walked back to their tower. The anticipation had everyone positively trembling with excitement. Harry was pulled into a discussion on possible Champions. It was a unanimous agreement that Krum would be selected for Durmstrang, and Ron was vouching for a Beauxbatons' student called Fleur. 

The Hogwarts Champion seemed to be the most troubling matter.

“As long as it isn’t a Slytherin,” muttered Ron.

“All the Hufflepuffs are going on about Diggory,” said Seamus, seemingly not very happy. “I wouldn’t have thought he would risk losing his good looks.”

“Well, after last night we know that plenty of our housemates are hoping he doesn’t,” chimed in Dean. 

Harry saw Ron’s face do a little twitch at the mention of the discussion, so he jumped in before he had any chance to revisit the subject of a certain blond. “Angelina placed her name in, right? I think she would be a great choice.” 

“Ah! A Gryffindor Champion! That would be great,” mused Seamus. 

Later, when the aftertaste of the Halloween Feast grew bitter on his mouth, when the Goblet selected a fourth name and every eye in the room turned to him, Harry would have to disagree with Seamus. No, a Gryffindor Champion would _not_ be great. 


	3. November 1, Tuesday: An Unexpected Meeting

The stairs to the owlery were treacherous; slippery due to the snow and filled with imperfections due to time. Harry was surprised someone had yet to slip and break their neck. The raging cold wind of winter wasn't helping either. 

Harry gripped his parchment a bit tighter. With his luck, a gale of wind could snatch it away from him and he would have to go all the way back to the common room for more. Apart from the long way being a hassle, Harry didn't really want to be there. 

Yesterday, half of the house congratulated him and the other half gave him the cold shoulder. No one believed him when he said he hadn't put his name in the bloody goblet. Not even Ron.

Hermione had given him a sad smile and her reassurance that she believed him, which Harry was eternally grateful for. She had also suggested he should write to Sirius, let him know what was happening. As it was usual with her suggestions, Harry found it absolutely brilliant.

The inside of the owlery wasn't warm in any way, but at least the walls offered protection from the raging wind. A familiar chirp brought his attention up, towards the spot on the wall where Hedwig was nestled between two other owls.

Figuring he should let her enjoy the warmth a bit longer before sending her away, Harry sat down by a wall and took out his quill and a bottle of ink from his pocket.

He had just signed his name at the bottom of the parchment when the slow steps of someone carefully walking up the stairs reached his ears. Panicking a bit, because he _was_ about to send a letter to a fugitive, he messily rolled up the parchment and tied it.

Just before Draco _sodding_ Malfoy walked in, face flushed red by the biting cold. And Harry had to clench his fist in order to refrain from smacking himself because for a minimal second he had noted that it wasn't an entirely bad look on the blond. 

To his merit, the other seemed as surprised to see him as he was. Malfoy halted on his steps as their eyes crossed and his head actually reared back a little before he seemed to recover and his lips curled up in a sneer, which in turn made Harry frown. 

"Well, if it isn’t the Champion of Hogwarts," said Malfoy in his posh and infuriating voice. 

"Sod off, Malfoy," spat Harry.

"Why don't you?" retorted Malfoy as he walked in. He pointedly looked at the rolled parchment in Harry's hands. "Since you seem quite finished with...What is this, Potter? Answering to fan mail? How kind of you."

"Ha ha," deadpanned Harry as he looked down at his parchment, to make sure it was tied up properly. Then a thought popped on his head and he looked up again at the blond. “Where are your bodyguards, Malfoy? Did they finally get tired of you?"

Malfoy took his time to answer him, neatly tying his roll of parchment and beckoning his owl over. "I hardly need company to send a letter. And shouldn’t I be asking you the same thing?"

Harry could already tell the conversation was going in a bad direction, so he turned around and called Hedwig over. 

"Where is your little sidekick, Potter?" said Malfoy, a hint of distaste on his voice. “Did he grow tired of your shadow?”

Malfoy didn't know. Couldn't possibly know about Ron's mistrust. He hadn't heard Ron calling him a liar before turning his back to him, refusing to listen to Harry. But his words still stung and Harry finished tying the parchment around Hedwig's leg a bit too roughly, causing her to let out a chirp of annoyance. 

"Oh," said Malfoy, and Harry _knew_ he had realised he had touched a nerve. He could already picture the knowing grin stretching his lips and the cruel taunt that would follow.

Harry leaned in and hurriedly whispered at Hedwig to bring his letter to Padfoot because he had to get out of there before he ended up hexing the git. Hedwig flew out the owlery, and Harry set his face on a hard line and mentally prepared to walk out of the owlery as fast as he could. 

"So Weaselby _actually_ thinks you placed your name in."

And Harry had been ready to take a page out of Hermione's book and punch the blond’s pointy face, but then his brain processed the message and he felt like he had been the one punched instead. 

He turned around to find Malfoy looking at him with a raised eyebrow. 

"You don't think I did?" asked Harry before he could stop himself. 

Malfoy scoffed as if he had said something especially stupid. "With the face you made the moment Dumbledore called your name?" he said, widening his eyes and mouth in fake panic, a mockery of what Harry's face had probably looked like last night. 

If someone had told Harry he would feel relief at being mocked by Malfoy, he would have taken them to the Hospital Wing. But there he was, feeling relieved because such was Harry's luck that perhaps the only other Hogwarts student next to Hermione that believed him was Draco _sodding_ Malfoy. 

"One look at your dumb face was more than enough,” continued Malfoy. “Although I can't say I'm surprised Weasley got it wrong."

Harry immediately frowned at the disdainful tone. "Why?"

"Because he is a moron," said Malfoy, the familiar sneer back on his face. "I did warn you about choosing the wrong sort."

The odd moment of civility was broken like that, as Harry was reminded of just who he was talking to. "I can still tell who's the wrong sort, Malfoy."

The git gave him a malicious grin. "And that's going on splendidly, isn't it?"

Harry didn't bother to answer. He made his way out of the owlery and down the treacherous stairs. He wasn't even ten steps down when Malfoy called out to him.

"Potter!"

When Harry turned around to look at him, the blond was giving him a weird look. "Is there any reason the Gryffindors have been glaring at me all day?"

Harry gave him a sneer of his own. "Wouldn't you like to know, Malfoy?"

The git scoffed and went back into the building. Happy for a small victory at the end, Harry walked down the remaining slippery steps. 


	4. November 4, Friday: Truce

Only three days later, Harry found himself stomping up the stairs, not caring about how slippery they were. 

It seemed like every student of Hogwarts was either openly sneering at him or giving him the cold shoulder. Harry was used to it from the Slytherins, but today a _Hufflepuff_ girl had tried to trip him down the stairs. 

He found himself alone most of the time. Ron being a prick and not even glancing at him, and Hermione trying to keep up with both of them and her study schedule.

Concentrating during lessons had become almost impossible due to all of this. Today he had finally felt better during Potions, actually managing to not burn his cauldron in the first hour. But because the world seemed to hate him, Colin Creevey had been sent to call him for _pictures_.

His frustration at the snickers following out of the classroom only grew more with the malicious questions of Skeeter, and once it was all over Harry found himself seething and stomping up the stairs leading to the only place he thought could be empty.

But of course, it wasn't. Draco Malfoy stood there, cheeks still flushed from the cold, visibly startled by Harry's sudden entrance.

Before giving Malfoy a chance to say something that would make him kick him off the tower, Harry lifted a finger and sent him a dark glare. "I can't deal with you right now, Malfoy. Stay quiet or so help me god". 

Malfoy took a step back and sent him a weirded-out look, but kept caressing his eagle owl in silence. 

Harry walked towards the wall and all but plopped down to the floor, letting out a sigh. Hedwig glided down, perching on his knee and chirping at him. 

The silence seemed to stretch uncomfortably, and Harry found himself calming down, enough for him to look up. He was surprised that Malfoy hadn't jumped at the chance to taunt him, and by the frown on the blond's face, he wasn't the only one.

It was an unfamiliar situation because, despite their years at Hogwarts, this was probably the second time they had been alone together, after detention during their first year. Third, if he counted their meeting at Madame Malkin's. 

Harry raised an eyebrow at the blond, who apparently took that as permission to speak.

"Was your interview not up to standards, Potter?" said Malfoy, but he did so cautiously, as an explorer on foreign territory.

"Skeeter," said Harry, too tired to elaborate.

Malfoy scrunched up his nose in graceful disgust, and it spoke of Harry's loneliness that he felt comforted by that.

"Potter," said Malfoy stiffly after the silence prolonged a bit more. "Are you planning to come here every time you have your picture taken?"

"Depends, would it bother you?"

Malfoy's grey eyes narrowed. "I'm sure you know how dreadful your company is. Think of the owls".

"Better me than you" retorted Harry. 

Malfoy scowled at him but turned away. Harry watched as he seemed to fiddle with a piece of parchment, lips pursed in frustration. Harry remembered last week and let out a sigh.

"Listen, Malfoy. I hate you," he said. The blond raised an expectant eyebrow in such an infuriating way that Harry thought about forgetting the terrible idea that he had and kicking the blond off the tower. 

Instead, he took a deep breath and continued.

"And you hate me. But I do enjoy the quietness here and, apparently, so do you. So if you could maybe not-" Harry looked for other words apart from _'be yourself_ ' or _'breathe'_ "-bother me, then I will do the same." 

Malfoy frowned, looking deeply troubled. "Fine," he finally spat. 

"Fine," repeated Harry. 

They proceeded to ignore each other, Harry taking out his Charm essay to work on. And Malfoy doing whatever he was doing. The silence continued, feeling tenser by the second like a stretched rope. Harry felt alert and could tell Malfoy did too. 

And then it didn't. The silence felt like silence, and nothing more. Harry worked on his essay and the blond finished tying his letter to his owl, elegantly sending it away. 

Malfoy brushed rogue feathers from his coat because he was a narcissist and even if he was about to get covered in snow after passing the entrance, god forbid he wasn’t the picture of neatness. 

_‘Sodding git,'_ thought Harry as the blond made way to the exit. 

As if hearing his thoughts, Malfoy threw Harry a disdainful glare over his shoulder before walking down the stairs. And Harry felt the rush of familiar anger that came with it. Because it was _the glare_ he sent Harry during Quidditch, during Potions and their first duel in Second Year. It was a challenge. A boastful look. A smug bet that said, _‘Look, Potter. I can maintain civility longer than you, Scarhead_ ’.

Harry frowned at the empty space the blond had left, knowing there was only one thing to do when he looked at him like that. 

Beat him.


	5. November 18, Friday: A Small Gesture

As the days passed, Harry discovered that Draco Malfoy sent letters home twice a week, which was more than most students did. Hermione wrote to his parents once a month, and Ron only did it during Holidays or special circumstances. Harry…, well, Harry wished he could write to Sirius as often. But it wasn’t as simple as that. His godfather had yet to answer his first letter.

Ron might have found Malfoy’s constant correspondence with his parents something to mock, but Harry felt bitter about it. 

But that wasn’t the reason Harry started spending more time at the owlery. Not at all. It was just that the owlery was quiet and empty. There were no mocking glances or harsh shoulder shoves. Despite being a freezer, it was a good place to study, or just being alone. 

It had nothing to do with the amusement Harry felt at Malfoy’s startled expression when he walked in to find him there. Or his satisfaction when Malfoy narrowed his eyes in irritation, visibly refraining himself from saying any insult he wanted to spit because, if he did, then Harry would have won. 

Bothering the blond was perhaps the only fun Harry had those days, but it wasn’t the reason Harry kept going to the owlery, because he was a decent person and that was really immature. 

The stretched silence, though uncomfortable, became nothing more than background noise, as both of them kept to their business, Malfoy usually finishing and leaving first, always throwing the same glare at Harry. That brief second was the only moment they really acknowledged the other.

Until two weeks later, when a softly whispered curse reached Harry’s ears, feeling much bigger than it was because of the long silence it had broken. Harry looked up at Malfoy, who seemed unaware of his misstep, too busy searching through his bag, a deep frown settled on his pale face. 

Harry glanced at the bench the blond was sitting on, noticing the now empty bottle of ink. He then looked down at the almost finished Transfiguration essay he had been working on and scrunched his nose. 

Apparently, being ostracised by the whole school was getting to Harry, because he picked up his things and walked over to Malfoy. The blond looked up at him cautiously, a pale hand already reaching for his wand.

Harry rolled his eyes and placed a bottle of ink next to Malfoy's empty one.

The blond looked at him as if he had gone crazy, and maybe Harry had because he let out an amused snort at his bewildered expression.

Malfoy seemed terribly offended by that. "I don't need-"

"Ink? You are out. Are you planning to walk all the way back to the dungeons for more?"

When Malfoy didn't deny it, Harry let out an exasperated sigh and took a step back. "Just take it, okay?"

Malfoy picked the bottle of ink up and stared at him. "Potter, this is full."

"Then just give it back to me next time or whatever," said Harry before walking away. 

This time, he didn't turn back when Malfoy called him and grinned to himself for small victories.


	6. November 23, Wednesday: Moody’s Ferret Disaster

Harry walked down the halls with renewed anger. Just when he had finally come to terms with being ignored, some unknown Hufflepuff had come out with the bright idea of badges. 

And of course, _everyone_ had loved the idea, so now Harry couldn't take two steps without encountering a sneering student pointing towards their yellow and black badges that switched from spelling _'We support the REAL champion of Hogwarts'_ to _'Down With Potter'_.

Not content with that, many students had also resorted to quoting Rita Skeeter's sodding article to him any chance they got. Harry could only clench his fists and walk faster, mentally hexing everyone around.

Harry would rather be at the common room, or more recently, the owlery. But after last night's visit to the forest, he knew that the only Champion unaware of the First Task was Cedric, and that wasn't fair.

Guilt had dragged him to find the tall Hufflepuff, surrounded by his badge-wearing friends who didn't miss the chance to taunt him. Harry gulped down his anger and continued to do so when Diggory looked at him with distrust. 

In the end, the Hufflepuff seemed to believe him, and even added an apology about the badges, which Harry dismissed before making his way back.

"Hey, Potter!" came an unpleasant voice, and Harry turned around to find Theodore Nott lounging by a tree along with other Slytherins. Malfoy was there too, but to Harry’s surprise, he wasn't sneering at him as usual. 

Nott was, though. "Listen to this, Draco's father-"

"I think that's mine to tell, Theo," said Malfoy, somehow managing to keep his tone carefree but also final. "Potter, a word."

Harry was surprised but managed to keep a neutral expression and followed him a bit further from the group. He glanced back and found them sneering, probably waiting for whatever Malfoy was up to. 

“Here,” said Malfoy, extending something small towards him.

Harry grabbed it, surprised to see it was his bottle of ink. “I expected you to flush it down the toilet.”

Malfoy scowled. “Perhaps I should have.”

Harry hummed in disbelief and looked up, suddenly aware of the extra inches the blond had on him. "What did your father say?" he found himself asking.

"He bet you wouldn't last five minutes in the Tournament," said Malfoy, voice posh as usual but fairly neutral. 

Harry raised an eyebrow. "What did you bet?"

Malfoy grinned maliciously. "Don't worry, Potter. I gave you ten."

"Gee, thanks," deadpanned Harry. He pointed to the blond’s chest. "Where is your badge?"

Malfoy pulled a disgusted face. "As if I would ever cheer for a _Hufflepuff._ "

“Right.” _Still a git_.

"They are so proud of them, aren't they?" added Malfoy, glancing at a group of badge-wearers walking by with disdain. "Such gaudy unoriginal things."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Think you could do better?" 

Malfoy regaled him with a smug grin. "As a matter of fact, Potter, I-" he paused, noticing something over Harry's shoulder. “Oh, look, Potter. It’s your ginger pet.”

Harry turned around to find Ron and Seamus passing by, the former glancing between him and Malfoy, looking confused for a moment before his frown deepened and he glared at them. 

"Can I help you, Weasley?” drawled Malfoy, his usual sneer painted on his face.

"Sod off, Malfoy," glowered Seamus.

Ron seemed to consider him for a moment before he let out a dry laugh.

Malfoy scowled. "What’s so funny?"

"Oh, nothing. Just remembering how we met. Still hung up about that, aren't you, Malfoy? Jumping at the first chance to grovel.” Ron sneered in uncharacteristic malice. “I find it pathetic, but, hey, maybe _he_ enjoys the attention,” he spat, before turning around and walking away, Seamus in tow.

Harry winced at the harsh words. “Ron-”

"You filthy-" muttered Malfoy, face flushed as he angrily fumbled for his wand. 

Harry panicked and reached out to stop him from hexing the ginger, but a sudden loud yell and the blazing light of a spell startled him back.

“OH NO YOU DON’T, LADDIE!”

Moody was limping over, wand raised and pointed towards a white ferret, that stood in exact spot Malfoy had just been-

Harry’s eyes widened in realisation.

Moody reached them, opening a path between the small crowd that had gathered. He looked down at the ferret, that trembled in quiet fear, before turning towards Ron. “Did he hit you?”

The ginger seemed surprised. “No, sir.”

Moody nodded, before letting out another roar when the ferret tried to run away. “Oh, I don’t think so!” He brought up his wand again and the ferret flew ten feet up the air before dropping down to the floor and bouncing up again, and again. “Attacking someone with their back turned, you coward, sneaky-”

The crowd seemed mostly shocked, but there were a few that laughed, like Ron and Seamus. 

Harry felt _sick_. He knew Moody was an odd professor, but he still was one, and Harry couldn’t believe he was doing that to a student, no matter who it was.

The ferret let out a pained squeal, and Harry winced. “Sir” he called, stepping forwards with a hand raised. 

Moody glanced at him quickly, and Harry could tell he was surprised. _Was he expecting him to laugh?_ Harry thought that usually he would, but-

“Sir, you are hurting him,” he said, trying to not convey how appalled he was. 

Moody frowned at him but showed no signs of stopping and Harry started to feel a bit desperate. Next to him, he could see Nott and other Slytherins trying to step forwards, but Moody reeled them back with a dark glare. 

Harry tried again. “Sir-!”

“Professor Moody!” came a shrill voice, and Harry sagged in relief when McGonagall appeared next to him. 

“Hello, Professor McGonagall,” said Moody calmly. 

Harry turned towards the woman. “Professor, that’s Malfoy,” he whispered urgently. 

McGonagall gave him a weird look. “Mister Malfoy? What do you-?” Her eyes widened in shock and she turned towards Moody. “Professor Moody, is that a student?!” she shrieked. 

“Yep,” said Moody, stilling bouncing the terrified ferret. 

“No!” cried McGonagall. She quickly took out her wand, and with a loud snapping noise, the ferret disappeared, leaving a rumpled looking Draco Malfoy on its place.

The blond got to his feet as McGonagall started lecturing Moody. His usually well-groomed hair was a mess, and his neat clothes were all dishevelled. His face was red with embarrassment and anger. Looking ready to strike back, he directed a scowl towards Moody, but it faltered when his eyes met Harry’s. 

The blond took a step back, and then another. Moody raised his wand again but was stopped by McGonagall. Taking his chance, Malfoy clenched his teeth and, with a last glance at Harry, he fled. 

Harry was rooted on his spot, feeling troubled, because for a moment he had wanted to go after him, but that was _Malfoy_ he was talking about. Part of him knew he should feel amused by the whole event, but he didn’t. He felt sick.

Before he could make a choice, a rough hand grabbed his shoulder, and he was dragged towards Moody’s office for an unexpected discussion.

\---

Harry found himself hurrying up the slippery stairs, not really sure of what he was doing. Even if Malfoy had gone to the owlery instead of the dungeons, it had been more than an hour since Moody humiliated him. He would probably be gone by now. 

Except he wasn’t. Sitting by a window, Malfoy looked up at him coldly when he walked in, before turning his gaze towards the outside. 

“What do you want, Potter?” he said.

Harry could only look at him. Malfoy had put himself together again, hair and uniform neatly in place, but he looked uncharacteristically defeated, and that made Harry even more guilty about not doing anything. 

Malfoy looked back at him when he didn’t answer, a pale eyebrow raised as a question. 

“Didn’t you already have a good laugh? What do you want?” repeated the blond, sounding irritated.

“I wasn’t laughing” retorted Harry.

Malfoy scoffed. “How noble of you. Do you want a prize?”

Harry frowned but didn’t rise to the bait. “Are you alright?” he asked instead.

The other seemed taken aback. “Why do you care?”

“Beats me.”

Malfoy looked away. “I’m fine, Potter.”

Harry grimaced. “Listen, what Ron said-”

“I do not care about what _Weaselby_ said” snarled Malfoy.

Harry frowned. “Really? Because you _were_ about to hex him.” 

The blond glowered at him, “Drop it, Potter.”

Harry clenched his teeth. “Fine,” he said, taking a step back. 

He was fully aware that he was being weird. Interactions with Draco Malfoy were usually black and white, and filled with anger; Malfoy would say something awful, Harry would say something back, then someone would get hexed, and that was it. He didn’t know what he was doing going after the git, and that frustrated him enormously. But part of him wanted to be there, call it curiosity or whatever one pleased.

“Can we just forget about the whole thing?” said Harry, huffing when Malfoy looked at him weirdly. “We promised not to bother each other here, right?”

Malfoy nodded slowly. 

“Right. So, what were you going to tell me?”

The blond blinked at him. “What?”

“Before, er, Ron showed up. You were going to tell me something.”

Malfoy bit his lip, looking troubled. At Harry’s insistent glare, he let out a sigh and took something out of his pocket, holding it up.

Harry reached, the object being a badge. It switched between supporting Diggory and insulting Harry as well, but the red letters glowed in a way that made them hard to avoid looking at. Picturing the whole student body wearing them made Harry cringe.

“These are _way_ worse,” he mused aloud. 

“Told you I could do better,” said Malfoy, a grin curling up his lips. 

Harry glanced at him curiously. “Then why didn’t you?”

Malfoy’s grin faltered, he looked away. “I just didn’t feel like it. Too much work.”

Harry didn’t comment on that. Instead, he sat down by the wall and took out his Potions essay, a quill, and the small bottle of ink. They fell back to their usual silence, Harry scribbling down what little he knew and Malfoy doing whatever he was doing.

This time, it was Harry the one to break the silence with a groan, and almost immediately looked up at the blond.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow in a silent question, and another bad idea formed in Harry’s head. 

“You are good at Potions, right?”

“I’m good at most things, Potter,” said Malfoy, very snobbishly.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Right, so if I were to ask you on the properties of armadillo bile-”

Malfoy eyes widened. “Potter, that essay is for tomorrow.”

“I’m aware,” said Harry calmly. 

“Professor Snape isn’t going to forgive you just because of the Task.”

Harry shook his head. “I know he won’t. Which is why I’m asking you.” Malfoy scowled at him, so he quickly added, “I’m not asking you to write it or anything. Just a quick check. Come on, you do owe me for the ink."

Malfoy scowl only deepened, but he let out a sigh. “Fine,” he spat. “Just because I hate being indebted to _you_ of all people.”

“Sure,” said Harry, handing his essay to the blond, who snatched it rudely and scowled down at it.

Harry looked away and distracted himself drumming his fingers on his knees.

“Your handwriting is atrocious,” commented Malfoy, handing the parchment back to him. “And you forgot the write about its healing properties. The professor mentioned them in class- Ah, right. It was after you left."

Harry frowned at the mention of the interview. 

“Skeeter’s articles are rubbish. Every respectable wizard knows that,” said Malfoy after a moment of silence.

Harry looked at him oddly, wondering if something had gone wrong with the universe because it sounded like Malfoy was trying to comfort him. 

The blond looked uncomfortable. “Unless she was right this time and you really are a twelve-year-old jumping to his death at any chance,” he added quickly.

“Shut up,” said Harry, and looked back down at his essay. “So, the healing properties…”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Shouldn’t you be asking _Granger_ about this?”

Harry tensed a bit, feeling alert. He and Malfoy might have established an odd truce at the moment, but Harry wouldn’t accept any ill comments about his friends. And he knew Malfoy was full of those. 

“ _Hermione_ is busy,” said Harry. “Plus, with Ron being- She hasn’t got the time.”

Malfoy pursed his lips at the mention of Ron but didn’t say anything. Instead, he pulled out a parchment from his bag. When Harry didn’t reach to grab it, he rolled his eyes and threw it at him. 

Harry opened it and was startled to find a neatly written Potions essay. “Er, thanks,” he managed. 

The blond shrugged. “Just don’t make it too obvious, Potter,” he said, then turning to look outside the window. 

Once Harry finished reading it, and writing a bit more on his own essay, he handed it back carefully. Malfoy took it without a word and put it back on his bag. Then he stood up, primly dusting off the snow from his pants before heading towards the stairs. He paused by the exit and threw Harry a weird look. 

“Potter,” he called. “I _did_ actually bet ten minutes on you, and I do not like losing."

Harry found himself grinning. “Will try to last that long, then”. 

“Good,” said Malfoy curtly, a small twitch curling up the corner of his lips for a brief second before he turned away and walked down the stairs.

Harry waited until his steps trailed off, before rolling up his essay. He kept sitting there for a little longer, enjoying the quietness of the owlery and trying to put his thoughts in order. He gave up when his stomach growled and hurried down the stairs towards the Great Hall.


	7. November 25, Friday: Sorry, Owls

The day after the task, Harry woke up with a good mood for the first time in a long time. Despite not having wanted to be part of the Tournament, he couldn’t help feeling proud and excited after tying for first place with Viktor Krum, after flying against a dragon. _A dragon!_

The Gryffindors had welcomed him to the common room with a loud celebration that carried into the late night. And Ron had apologised to him and explained that, in a convoluted way, he had tried to help. Harry thought it was stupid, and told him so, but he was happy to have his friend back.

His good mood prevailed through the day. Hufflepuff students kept wearing their badges and sneering at him, but the Ravenclaws stopped, probably figuring that having two champions meant Hogwarts had better chances at winning. Even if the rest of the houses kept shutting him out, Harry wouldn’t have cared, because he had his best friend back. 

So, after quite a while, Harry found himself skipping up the slippery stairs after lunch, humming to himself. Good mood not spoiled even after he almost slipped and became the first student to die from a broken neck. Hermione and Ron had offered to come with him, but Harry told them that he would be fast, having already written his letter to Sirius. It was securely placed on his unusually heavy bag.

Harry wasn’t surprised when he found Malfoy already there, because he was always there, but he was surprised when the blond turned towards him and scowled darkly, killing Harry’s greeting before it could cross his lips.

“Potter,” he muttered bitterly.

Harry reeled back at the tone. It’s not that he thought Malfoy and him were friends now, that would be impossible, but after their last meeting, he thought that maybe they could at least be on neutral ground. 

He couldn’t help frowning, resenting the blond for single-handedly spoiling his good mood. “Malfoy,” he answered, not really knowing what else to say. 

Malfoy glared at him before giving him a nasty smile that made Harry feel a familiar pang of irritation and anticipate harsh words. “I suppose congratulations are in order, right?” mocked Malfoy. “I would have thought you would have enough with all the Gryffindors grovelling at your feet, but perhaps that wasn’t enough for you-”

“What's your problem?” asked Harry harshly. 

Malfoy sneered at him. “I hardly have a problem, Potter. Apart from you being here, of course. Mind solving that?”

Harry held his glare for a while. ”Fine” he spat, turning harshly towards the exit. A new rush of anger stopped him, making him turn around and stomp towards the blond. Malfoy took a step back, startled, but his scowl didn’t falter. “You know what? I actually thought that perhaps you weren’t such a sodding git anymore. But I was wrong.” He turned back again, making way to the stupid slippery stairs.

“Hurry up, Potter. You don’t want to leave your _friends_ waiting, lest they go back to ignoring you again,” spat Malfoy bitterly at Harry’s retreating back.

Harry halted on his steps and looked back at the blond, something about his tone making him do so. Malfoy scowled at him, lips pressed into a thin line. 

An idea popped into Harry’s head, so ridiculous he almost dismissed it immediately. But, again, the whole situation was ridiculous, so maybe the idea that Malfoy felt jealous of his friends wasn’t that far fetched. 

“Even if I’m speaking with Ron again, I wasn’t planning to stop coming here, you know,” said Harry slowly, figuring he couldn’t make things worse. 

Malfoy scowl faltered a bit. “You weren’t?”

Harry shook his head.

“But you don’t have to avoid them anymore. Surely you have better things to do than hiding at the owlery,” said Malfoy bitterly, looking away from him. 

Harry felt stupid. How couldn’t he have realised before, with how bitter Malfoy looked? The only way to make it clearer would be for him to _pout_. 

“I like it,” said Harry. Malfoy snapped his gaze back at him and Harry felt his cheeks heating. “I mean, I like it here,” he stammered, looking away towards a wall. “The owlery. It’s very, er, comfy,” he tried, immediately wanting to smack himself. The owlery was a stone-cold freezer, in no way comfortable. 

“Right, yes. Very,” said Malfoy, surprising Harry into looking at him again. As usual, his pale face was flushed red from the cold. Malfoy cleared his throat. “Weren’t you leaving, Potter?”

“If you don’t mind me being here, I have a letter to send, you know,” said Harry. Something about the way Malfoy nodded and looked away made Harry rush to add, “I actually wanted to show you something.”

The blond blinked at him in bewilderment, making Harry hurry to explain himself. “Er, I passed the task of the Tournament- You already know that, you were there. And the prize was an egg- which you _also_ know.” Harry didn’t remember being this awkward, ever. “Yesterday at the common room, the Gryffindor common room. Well, they asked me to open it, and it went- I thought that maybe you would- you know."

“I really don’t,” said Malfoy, looking a bit nervous.

“Here, just let me show you,” resolved Harry, taking out the golden egg and opening it. 

Harry realised a second too late how bad of an idea it was, but Malfoy had always made him feel like rushing. And now the horrible screech filled the quietness of the owlery. The many owls took off at the same time, making their feathers rain upon them. Harry fumbled to close the egg, the stubborn thing refusing to do so. Pale hands closed over his, pushing, and the silence was restored. 

“Salazar, Potter! Are you actually insane?” hissed Malfoy harshly. 

Harry wanted to argue that he wasn’t, but he glanced at the pale hands still over his and his throat went a little dry. 

Malfoy looked down and immediately let go as if burnt. He cleared his throat, before fixing Harry with a nasty glare. “Why did you do it, Potter? Planning to destroy my eardrums?”

Harry grimaced. “Sorry. I figured I would show you something this time.” At Malfoy’s raised eyebrow, he added: “Since last time you showed me the badge.”

The blond blinked at him. “I appreciate the sentiment, Potter. But, maybe a warning next time”. 

Harry felt oddly glad for the _‘next time’_ bit. “So, what do you think?”

Malfoy grinned. “I think you will be facing a mandrake next task. Better borrow Sprout’s earmuffs.” He then paused for a moment, thinking. “Or perhaps…”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Got any ideas?” 

“Plenty,” said Malfoy, his grin turning malicious. “But I’m not sharing, Potter, as payback for disrupting the peace of the owls.”

Harry winced at that, looking apologetically at the owls that flew back in. “I really am dreadful company.”

“That you are. See you, Potter,” said Malfoy, making his way towards the exit. 

“When?” blurted out Harry. 

The blond looked back at him curiously, before looking away. The cold breeze from the exterior already biting his cheeks red. “I planned to send a letter on Monday.”

Harry nodded. “Alright. Er, goodbye, Malfoy,” he said. 

Malfoy returned the nod and disappeared down the stairs, leaving Harry to the impossible task of finding Pigwidgeon among the many owls still flying back inside. He just hoped he didn’t resent him too much.


	8. December 16, Friday: House Traitors

“There's something wrong with Malfoy.”

Harry looked up, searching the Great Hall for the blond. He relaxed when he found him sitting on the Slytherin table, listening to Pansy Parkinson with a lazy grin.

“He seems fine to me,” said Harry, turning back to his essay. Snape seemed resolved to send them impossible assignments since Harry got a high mark on his armadillo bile essay. Perhaps Malfoy could help him again with this one, about the different ways to use mandrake on antidotes. He would have to ask him the next time they met. Harry had helped him with Transfiguration on Tuesday, so Malfoy owed him.

“What do you mean?” whispered Ron, blinking when Harry looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. “He’s been suspiciously quiet for a while now."

Harry had to agree. Malfoy hadn’t sneered at him since their fourth meeting at the owlery, when their silence had been broken and a bottle of ink had been offered. Harry supposed it was due to the weird truce they had, but the blond hadn’t gone out of his way to say anything to Ron or Hermione either. Harry was truly grateful for that because if he did he would have to stop talking to him. 

“Isn’t that a good thing?” asked Harry, keeping an eye out for Snape. Study Hall was supposed to be for working and, well, studying, and the man was very serious about that.

“Good?” hissed Ron. “He must be up to something!”. When Harry let out a non-committal hum, Ron turned to Hermione. “Right?”

Hermione frowned at him. “I hate to agree with Ron, especially when he should be studying, but Malfoy has been awfully quiet”. She looked around before leaning in. “Last Arithmancy class I dropped my bottle of ink just next to his shoes-”

“Nice one, Hermione!”

“Accidentally, Ron!” whispered Hermione. “And he cleaned it up and went on with his business. Not even sneering at me.” 

“WHAT?” blurted out Ron, quickly checking Snape hadn’t noticed him.

“Perhaps he stopped being a git?” tried Harry. “Or not,” he added when both of his friends looked at him as if he had gone mad. He shook his head and went back to his essay. 

After finding out that mandrake properties change drastically depending on if they were cut with silver or iron knives, Harry knew he had to ask Malfoy to sum it up. The textbook was too confusing, and he kept getting distracted by the conversations around him. 

“What’s wrong, Seamus?” asked Ron, when the boy plopped down on the bench near them. 

Dean sat next to him, grinning. “Yes, Seamus. Tell them.”

Seamus glowered. “I tried asking a third-year Ravenclaw to the Yule Ball. I have seen her at the library before, and she is very pretty and seems nice enough.”

“And?”

“And Seamus got scared of her third-year Slytherin friend,” finished Dean, looking very amused.

“She kept glaring at me!”

Ron turned towards Hermione. “I told you they were evil.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Or just concerned about her friend being asked out by a guy she doesn’t even know.”

Ron let out a sigh. “Seriously, how are we supposed to ask them? They travel in packs.”

Harry shrugged. He really should be trying harder to find a date, since apparently, the Champions had to open the Ball. But he couldn’t find it in himself to try. “Maybe you should go with Seamus and ask the angry friend.”

“No way. Rather die than go with a Slytherin” 

“That’s a bit dramatic,” commented Hermione. 

Ron sniffed. “It’s called House Pride.”

“Right, about that,” chimed in Dean. “Did you know that Fay is going with Zabini?” 

“When did _that_ happen?” asked Seamus.

“She cornered him after Potions. Zabini seemed startled, but he agreed quite easily.”

“House traitor,” muttered Ron. 

“I mean, she was very bold. Isn’t that Gryffindor behaviour?” Harry shrugged when Ron, Seamus and Dean looked at him weirdly. “No? Alright."

He closed his Potions textbook, knowing he wouldn’t get further without asking Malfoy. He glanced towards the Slytherin table, where the blond was writing on a piece of parchment. His grey eyes flickered up, meeting Harry’s. Malfoy gave him a brief tentative smile before turning back to his work. 

Harry fumbled to grab his quill, which he almost dropped. He shook his head and tried to read his textbook. Then realized he had already closed it. He opened it again on a random page and glued his eyes to it. He didn’t look up again until Ron started telling Hermione she was a girl.


	9. December 19, Monday: Is That Even A Question?

“If he keeps staring at you I’m gonna hex him."

Harry halted on his steps and looked around the corner. A tall Slytherin girl glared at a Durmstrang student, who stood next to a column and kept stealing glances at her friend, a smaller Ravenclaw girl.

“You would get detention,” said the Ravenclaw calmly. 

The Slytherin seemed ready to reply, but choked on her words when the Durmstrang boy started walking over. 

“Good afternoon,” greeted the boy politely. He smiled at the Ravenclaw girl. “I was wondering if you would do me the honour of attending the Yule Ball with me."

The girl grinned. “Of course I would. Is that even a question?”

The Slytherin seemed ready to faint, as the other two started talking details. Harry wondered if it really was that easy to ask someone out. The Ball was only six days away and he still didn’t have a date. McGonagall would kill him if he didn’t manage to get one.

He walked up the slippery stairs without thinking, which resulted in him running into Malfoy as soon as he crossed the entrance. The other lost his balance, and Harry hastily grabbed his arms to prevent him from falling. 

“Merlin, Potter. Watch where you are going!” hissed Malfoy, out of breath.

“Sorry, I was distracted.” Harry grimaced apologetically, letting the blond go. “Were you leaving?” he added, feeling a bit disappointed. 

Malfoy fixed his clothing. “Yes, to look for you.” 

“Me?” Harry raised his eyebrows.

“I wanted to ask you something.”

Harry’s stomach somersaulted. “Yes?” 

The blond looked around the empty owlery before leaning in. “What’s up with the Gryffindors?”

“What? Nothing. Why are you asking?” 

Malfoy raised an eyebrow in suspicion. “Finnigan asked Pansy to the ball."

“HE DID?!” blurted out Harry. “What did she say?”

“She said no, of course,” said Malfoy haughtily. “But she was very upset by it."

“Why?” asked Harry. “Was she that offended?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “She thought he was having her on, asking her as a joke."

“Seamus wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t even ask someone for real."

“I figured that out when she stormed off and he stood there looking like a stricken baboon,” said Malfoy with an amused grin. “But I don’t blame her for thinking he was joking. A Slytherin with a Gryffindor? _Please._ ”

Harry pursed his lips. “Zabini is going with Dunbar, though. She asked him."

Malfoy frowned. “Bastard didn’t tell me.” Grey eyes looked at Harry in suspicion. “What’s up with the Gryffindors? I feel like they have been weird for a while now.” He pointed an accusing finger at Harry. “And _you_ refused to tell me why before, so you must know.”

Harry grimaced. “I can’t tell. House confidentiality, and all. But I promise there isn’t a big conspiracy going on."

Malfoy studied him carefully before stepping back. “Fine, have it your way.” He looked away for a moment and sighed, then turning back to him with a small grin. “How is your essay going? Need any help?”

“Yes, please,” said Harry. 

They sat down on a stone bench, Harry casting a warming charm over the both of them when he noticed the pink flush on Malfoy’s pale face. He seemed very sensible to the cold. The blond gave him an easy smile and proceeded to tell Harry that he had been confusing the terms of the textbook, and that he had to rewrite his whole essay. One hour later, Harry smiled down at his finished work as Malfoy got ready to leave.

“I owe you a big one, Malfoy,” he said. “Seriously. Just ask."

Malfoy threw his bag strap over his shoulder and halted, biting his lip and looking even paler.

“Are you okay?” asked Harry, standing up. 

Malfoy gave him a quick nod. “Peachy. I have to go now.” He hurried towards the stairs. “Bye, Potter."

“Bye,” mumbled Harry, watching him go. A weird feeling settled on his chest, making him feel uneasy. He hurried after him on a whim. “Wait, Malfoy-!”

The blond turned around so quickly Harry worried for his neck. “Yes?” he said, looking up at Harry expectantly. 

Harry could only stare at him, noticing how his pale cheeks were red by the cold and wondering why that looked good when it must hurt. “Er-” he mumbled smartly, not sure of why he had called after him. 

Malfoy kept looking at him, with wide grey eyes Harry couldn’t pull his own away from. For some reason, Harry thought about the Durmstrang student, about what he had said. He felt heat rising to his cheeks and hastily cleared his throat, looking away. “Er, nothing. Just- See you at the Great Hall,” he stammered. “You know- at dinner. Er, see you then.”

“Right,” said Malfoy, looking away. “See you then, Harry,” he said quickly, before rushing down the stairs. 

Harry smacked his head on the stone wall of the owlery, heart pounding. He didn’t know what he was doing, but Malfoy had called him by his name and he couldn’t stop a stupid grin from stretching his lips.

\---

Not even Hermione looking at him as if he were mad spoiled his good mood. He just smiled at her and dismissed her questions, distracting her by asking how she was doing with her Potions essay. Hermione frowned when he said he was already finished, and looked shocked when she read through his essay, muttering that there were no mistakes. Harry grinned stupidly and rested his head on his hand.

His good mood only faltered when Ginny, Fay and some other girls rushed a sickly looking Ron into the common room. 

“What happened to you?” asked Harry in alarm. 

“He just asked Fleur Delacour to the ball,” said Ginny, helping his brother down on a chair. 

“What did she say?” 

“No, of course,” said Hermione. Ron shook his head and she gasped. “She said yes?”

“Don’t be silly,” mumbled Ron. “She was walking by, you know I like it when they walk, and the words just slipped out."

“Actually, you kind of screamed at her, it was sort of frightening,” pointed out Ginny. 

Harry’s felt dread pooling in his stomach, as he thought back to the moment outside the owlery. At how he could only think of what the Durmstrang student had said, how the same words had almost slipped out. 

“You fancy her,” said Harry in horror.

Everyone looked at him as if he were stupid. 

“How could I not, mate? Have you seen her?” mumbled Ron. 

“You fancy her,” repeated Harry. “So you couldn’t help asking her to the ball, because you fancy her. You like her.”

Hermione looked at him with concern. “Harry?”

“So if you fancy her, then I-” Harry took a step back because the pieces clicked. It made sense. “Oh, Merlin,” he sat down.

“Oh! Did you ask someone too?” asked Fay, eyes sparkling with curiosity. 

Harry shook his head energetically. “No, no one. I don’t- Er, no.”

“Not even Cho?” asked Hermione. “I thought you liked her.” 

That felt like ages ago. Him thinking Cho was the prettiest girl of Hogwarts, making a fool out of himself every time he saw her. Or hating Malfoy and finding his face punchable. His posh voice was no longer irritating, his grin now a welcomed sight. Harry felt dizzy. _When had it all changed?_

Harry shook his head, “I need a date. Quickly,” declared Harry. He looked around, noticing Parvati and Padma walking down the stairs, and immediately calling after them.


	10. December 23, Friday: Sorry, Neville

Harry wouldn't meet Malfoy at the owlery until after the Yule Ball, which was for the best, because he didn’t think he could face him. Not after his sudden realisation that perhaps he fancied Malfoy a tiny, _tiny_ bit. 

The problem is that not _meeting_ the blond didn't impede him from _seeing_ the blond, because they went to the same bloody school. 

He saw him during Potions on Tuesday. Snape had been especially bitter, probably due to Harry turning in another good essay, and had them all brewing Weedosoros. Surely in hopes Harry accidentally drank it and died.

The potion was hard to brew, the ingredients having to be added in specific times, in a very specific order, which had all the class quite nervous. Even Hermione was triple-checking before adding, cutting or stirring anything on the cauldron, when usually double-checking was enough for her. The only exception seemed to be Malfoy. 

Harry had always known the Slytherin was good at Potions. After all, he was Snape’s golden student for a reason besides blatant house favouritism. But Harry had never noticed how comfortable Malfoy looked during Potions. Each movement seemed rehearsed, no stutters, no moments of hesitation. The checking of the instructions feeling more like a formality than a necessity for him. His pale face was focused. Not scared like Neville’s or concerned like Hermione’s. Focused. Ready. Framed by the toxic fumes quite artly-

A sharp pain broke the line of Harry's thoughts. He repressed a hiss and looked down at his cutting board, where the Venomous Tentacula leaves he had been chopping laid, miraculously, untouched by the blood dripping from his finger.

A quick look at Snape told him he hadn't noticed his slip up, so he hurried to add the leaves. He brought his finger to his lip to suck the blood when a firm hand stopped him. 

"Harry! That is _extremely_ poisonous," hissed Hermione, fixing his finger with a quick flick of her wand. 

Harry let out a nervous laugh and blamed his distraction on the Second Task. But Hermione hadn't stopped looking at him suspiciously ever since.

Not even now, three days later during lunch. He chewed his food carefully, pretending not to see her narrowed eyes and pursed lips. Hermione wore the same expression of determination she had when learning a new spell, or working through an essay. She was looking at Harry like the riddle they faced during First Year, which was a scary prospect because she had worked through that one very quickly.

Ron, thankfully, seemed unaware of it all. He ate with his usual energy, telling Harry about people that still hadn't found a date for the ball. It was Harry the one that got dates for both of them, but he wasn't about to spoil his fun. 

"You know who definitely doesn't have a date?" said Ron with a grin. 

"Tell me, Ron," said Harry, hoping Hermione would get distracted with whatever Ron would say. 

" _Malfoy_. There's no way that ferret faced git got a date," said Ron smugly. 

Harry frowned at the nickname. That hadn't been fun. "Yeah, maybe."

"Actually, he is going with Parkinson," said Hermione, still looking at Harry. 

"Really?" said Ron, looking disappointed. "I thought he hadn't gotten one since he is looking all sulky and stuff."

"Sulky?" Harry looked towards the Slytherin table. 

Ron was right. Malfoy was brooding, picking at his food and barely responding to his friends' attempts to engage him in conversation. Goyle kept looking at him in concern as he ate, Zabini looked disapprovingly at his plate and Parkinson-

Parkinson was glaring at Harry. Darkly. Looking an inch away from cursing him. 

Harry reeled back. Parkinson had never been this hostile towards him directly. Harry found himself annoyed by the girl, so with a last worried glance at Malfoy, he turned back to his friends. 

Straight into Hermione's glare.

" _Harry,_ " said Hermione. 

" _Hermione,_ " replied Harry.

Hermione's eyebrow twitched. "You seem quite distracted lately".

Harry shrugged. "You know- the Tournament. Been thinking about it."

"Oh, really?" Hermione raised an eyebrow and smiled at him. "So have you figured out what the next Task is?"

"Actually, yes," said Harry, trying to look serious. "It's mandrakes. Could you lend me your earmuffs?"

Hermione wasn't amused. Her eyes narrowed in a silent promise. _'This isn't over.'_

"Uh," said Ron. "Why are you glaring at each other?"

Harry merely smiled and returned to finish his food. He managed another quick glance at Malfoy when Hermione got distracted with Ron's terrible table manners. Parkinson seemed to be trying to comfort him, patting his arm softly, but Malfoy brushed her hand off. 

_'Ha ha,'_ thought Harry very maturely, but he was worried about the blond's bad mood. The last time he had seen him brood was after Moody’s incident.

For the first time in his life, Harry couldn't wait for Potions Class. He tapped his foot impatiently, half hearing Ron and Seamus' conversation. He didn't pay much mind to dessert and when the food disappeared, he was one of the first to spring to their feet. 

He told Hermione a half baked lie about the chance of Snape making them prepare the antidote for Weedosoros, counting on it to be as complex as the potion was. 

Apparently, it was, because her eyes popped wide and she rushed them to the dungeons, muttering about re-checking the brewing process. 

Malfoy arrived just before class began, unusually late, Parkinson and Zabini leading him to their usual table at the front. One of Snape's eyebrows twitched up a bit, and that might be the most concerned Harry had ever seen the man be. 

Snape looked down at the class. "Antidote to Weedosoros. Page 278. You might have to try it, so I suggest you do _not_ mess up." He pointedly looked at Neville. "Work in pairs. You have until the end of period."

Harry immediately asked Neville to work with him, to Ron, Hermione and Neville's surprise. The boy seemed happy and Harry felt guilty about what he had planned to do. 

But it had to be done. And Gryffindors were supposed to be bold and that. 

So as soon as they started, Harry made sure the recipient of unicorn horns was _very_ close to the edge of the table. He then started crushing the bezoar and waited. 

A loud clatter broke through the mostly quiet room when Neville accidentally pushed the recipient over the edge. As clockwork, Snape was on them. 

The man seemed troubled between choosing who to yell at first. "Longbottom! You dim-witted child. Do you know how valuable unicorn horns are?!" he hissed. "And you Potter. You didn't warn him! Ten points from Gryffindor. Each." He stepped back and glanced around the room. "Parkinson. Switch with Potter."

The girl gaped. "But, Professor-"

"Now," he said, already turning away. 

"Sorry, Harry," said Neville, looking quite dejected. 

"Don't mind him, Neville," said Harry, grabbing his bag. He leaned in and whispered, "I'm sure he is angry because he hasn't found a date to the Ball yet. Not like you, huh? Hannah Abbott, right?"

Neville gave him a nervous smile, making Harry feel a bit less guilty about his plan.

He passed by Parkinson on his way to the front, the girl throwing him a nasty glare before planting herself beside Neville, who looked terrified 

Harry took a deep breath and went to stand next to Malfoy. The blond raised an eyebrow at him but didn't stop crushing his ingredients. 

Harry looked both ways, making sure Snape was far away from them before he leaned in and whispered, "Are you okay?"

Malfoy movements halted for a second. "I'm fine."

Harry sighed. His plot to get here had worked perfectly but now he had no idea what to do. Still, he wasn't about to give up now, so he tried another angle. "So, Yule. I heard you are going with Parkinson."

Malfoy's grip on the mortar hardened. "I am. And I heard you are going with one of the Patil sisters,” he said coldly.

Harry frowned at the tone. "With Parvati. I'm glad she agreed- Malfoy, aren't the horns crushed enough by now."

"Not yet," muttered Malfoy. 

"Oh, alright. Well, you are way better at this than me. Potions, not crushing." He cleared his throat. "Well, as I was saying I'm glad she said yes because McGonagall would have had my head otherwise."

Malfoy fully stopped obliterating the unicorn horns. He looked at Harry in honest confusion. "What?"

Harry checked around again and leaned in. "Champions have to open the Ball, you know. If I showed up alone McGonagall would have killed me before the Second Task even got the chance". 

"And Patil-"

"Was kind enough to say yes. We don't talk much but she is nice."

Malfoy frowned. "So you don't fancy her?".

Harry's eyes widened. "No, no." He shook his head. "No. Strictly business- Er, champion business."

Malfoy grinned at that and Harry felt like singing. Then the blond looked down at his ingredients and frowned.

"These are barely dust by now."

"I'm sure it's fine," said Harry. Then he added, "Are you and Parkinson-?"

Malfoy shook his head. "We are just friends.”

"Good, good. That is," said Harry, trying not to show his relief. "Well, let's work on this potion before Snape bites my head off again". 

Malfoy sniffed. "To be fair, being a careless idiot while brewing could get you killed."

"Well, yes. But I didn't come up with another way to reach you," muttered Harry, immediately grimacing. He and his big mouth. Maybe he had been hanging around Hagrid too much. 

"You-" Malfoy stared at him in bewilderment, mouth agape and face slightly pink from the heat of the cauldron. "You are an _idiot,_ " he whispered.

Harry frowned and opened his mouth to disagree, but Malfoy shook his head and instructed him to cut the mistletoe berries, a genuine smile stretching his lips. And Harry couldn't do more than snap his mouth shut and get to work. 

Snape looked especially sour by the end of the class because Malfoy and Harry's antidote was perfect. The man happily ignored him as he complimented Malfoy, but Harry was too busy thinking about how doomed he was. Because he fancied Draco Malfoy. He fancied him a lot.


	11. December 25, Sunday: The Yule Ball

Harry rushed into his room, startling Ron away from the mirror. The ginger looked scared for a moment until Harry took his cloak off. Then he just looked confused.

“Harry! Where were you, mate?” Ron turned towards the mirror again, fiddling with the frilly collar of his outdated robes. 

“Had things to do,” answered Harry, hastily bundling his cloak and storing it in his trunk before grabbing his formal clothes and running to the bathroom. 

His formal robes were bottle green, and Harry thought he would maybe look alright in them if it weren’t for his hair. He passed his fingers through it, in a fruitless battle to make it less of a mess. 

“Ron! Do you have a brush?!” he called.

“A brush?!” came Ron’s voice from the room.

“Nevermind,” sighed Harry. He tussled with his hair a bit more before giving up and stepping back from the mirror, going back into the room.

\---

“I bet she’s crying on her room all alone."

“Who?” asked Harry, glancing around the entrance to the Great Hall. 

“Hermione, of course.” Ron sniffed. “I would have taken her if she weren’t so proud."

Harry frowned at that. "Ron, I don't think-" He paused, eyes doubling back on a blond head. Nope. Wrong shade. He kept looking. "I'm sure she's fine."

His search was interrupted by the apparition of Padma and Parvati, clad in turquoise and shocking pink robes respectively, followed closely by McGonagall. 

Padma and Ron were rushed into the Hall, both of them saying farewells that went unheard by Harry because at that moment his eyes finally rested on their target. 

Malfoy's robes were black as most of the students', but the vest and shirt underneath were an immaculate white and Harry didn't know much about fashion but he liked the contrast. He was linked by the arm with a pink-clad Parkinson, whose eyes wandered around the room as she talked to him, probably gossiping. The blond leaned down to meet her whispers, his lips stretching into a marvellous grin that Harry found himself copying.

The pretty pair of grey eyes flickered up at him suddenly and the white grin turned softer at the edges, making Harry's breath hitch. He could only raise a hand awkwardly before Malfoy was dragged into the Hall by Parkinson.

"She looks beautiful," said Parvati.

“Yeah- _She?_ ” repeated Harry, confused.

It turned out that Parvati had been talking about Hermione, who was positively glowing next to Viktor Krum. Harry felt happy for her, but he couldn't get a word in before McGonagall hurried the Champions into place and Harry's battle with the waltz began. 

\---

Ron was in a terrible mood and it all was Viktor Krum’s fault. Harry, being a good friend, didn’t point out that Krum had been Ron’s idol until an hour ago. Instead, he just nodded to every word Ron said, his eyes following after a certain figure on the dance floor. 

It wasn’t surprising that Malfoy was a good dancer. Even when Harry had disliked him, he had recognised that the blond had a certain grace to him, in the way he moved and held himself. Back then, it had been infuriating, but now he couldn’t look away. 

“Would you like a napkin, Harry?” came a smooth voice from his right, startling Harry into attention. 

Blaise Zabini stood next to him, wearing expensive-looking formal robes and an amused expression. 

“What do you want, Zabini?” grumbled Ron.

Zabini spared Ron a single disdainful look. “I have been hearing a lot about you lately,” he told Harry. “Surprisingly _good_ things," he added when Harry didn’t reply, as if that made any more sense.

Harry had no idea why Zabini was talking to him now, nor why he was looking at him in refined amusement. Then he noticed Fay Dunbar on a table nearby, happily talking to her friends.

“Really?” said Harry. Fay and he didn’t really talk outside of Quidditch practice, so he was a bit surprised. 

“Perhaps a bit too much,” said Zabini enigmatically. 

_‘Too much?’_ thought Harry. Had Fay been talking about him all night? He didn’t think the girl would, but Zabini was here now, and she was his date, of course Zabini would be annoyed by that, Harry would have felt a bit jealous.

“Oh, no. It’s not like that."

Zabini’s grin fell. “What?”

“Yeah. We don’t talk much,” explained Harry. “I mean, we aren’t really friends.”

Zabini was looking down at him coldly now. “You-”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound rude,” said Harry, raising his hand placatingly. “Fay is great, really, it’s just that we don’t talk much outside of practice. So you don’t-”

“You are an _idiot,_ ” mused Zabini. “Are you seriously telling me you don’t-” he paused. “Merlin, this is too good. Have a nice evening, Harry."

He walked away snickering to himself, leaving Harry feeling vaguely offended and terribly confused. Ron mumbled something about Slytherins, and Harry absentmindedly agreed, eyes back on the dancers. Parkinson was there, pink dress twirling as she danced with a tall Durmstrang student. And Malfoy-

Malfoy wasn’t there and Harry was about to murder Blaise Zabini. He turned towards his table, his anger forgotten once he caught a glance of platinum blond hair crossing the big oak door of the Great Hall. 

“I’m going to take some air,” said Harry, quickly getting to his feet and fixing his hair.

“Sounds good, I’ll go-"

“No, no." Harry panicked. “I’ll be quick. Er, and you don’t wanna leave Hermione here alone, right?”

Ron glowered. “Fine, it’s not like I care, but-”

“Sure. See you, Ron.” Harry hurried towards the entrance.

The halls outside were mostly empty, apart from students going to or returning from the bathrooms, or those who looked for a quieter spot to talk. Harry kept walking, all the way to the Entrance Hall, briefly patting his pocket.

Malfoy was standing by the door, looking lost in thought. Harry must have breathed too loud, or something, because the blond looked back quickly in alarm, relaxing once he saw him.

“Did you get lost, Potter?” he drawled.

Harry refrained from saying anything embarrassing. “Not any more than you.” He approached him. “I just felt like taking a walk.”

Malfoy grinned and extended an arm to the door. “Then let’s do that.”

The cold breeze of the exterior hit them both, and Harry cast a warming charm on them as they made way to the rose garden. 

“I thought you were enjoying the Ball,” said Harry, as they passed by a large stone statue. 

“Needed some air,” said the blond easily. Then he frowned a bit, “And Moody was creeping me out, sitting nearby and drinking from his weird flask like a freak, weird twitch included. Couldn’t dance like that, so I stopped.”

Harry knew Malfoy would probably never forget the ferret disaster since he was the type of person that held to grudges. But it seemed like Malfoy was a bit afraid of Moody too and that left a bitter taste on his mouth. “That’s a shame,” he mused. “You looked great dancing.”

Malfoy blinked at him, pale face going pink.

“I mean, you looked good- dancer! You looked like a good dancer. Definitely better than me.” Harry laughed awkwardly. “Er, did Snape teach you?”

The blond’s eyebrows furrowed. “Excuse you?”

“McGonagall taught- Well, tried to teach us the waltz. She danced with Ron to demonstrate-” He smiled at Malfoy’s grin. “Yes, laugh about it, you git. So, was it the same way for Slytherin? Did Snape dance with you? Or maybe Goyle?”

Malfoy let out a snort, an undignified sound Harry was sure he had heard before but felt like something new. And Harry wanted to hear it again, so he frowned, trying to put on the same sour expression the Head of Slytherin wore. 

Malfoy was biting down his lip, the corners wobbling.

“Put. Your. Hand. On. My. Waist. Mister. Malfoy,” deadpanned Harry.

And Draco Malfoy _laughed_ , and it wasn’t the infuriating snickers after a cruel taunt or the complicit laugh after an insult; it was open, and genuine, and lovely. Harry could only stare, at the crinkling eyes, and the wide smile, and the trembling shoulders and the pale throat. 

“That was _awful,_ ” said the blond when he recovered.

“Ten points from Slytherin,” grumbled Harry.

Malfoy shook his head. “Stop.”

“Turn to page-”

“Potter, stop,” warned Malfoy, staring at a spot over Harry’s shoulder.

Harry rolled his eyes at the obvious lie. “Right, he is behind me. _Sure_. And he is gonna go: Ten points-”

Malfoy grabbed his hand, dragging him behind a large bush and pulling them both down until it hid them.

Before Harry could open his mouth to ask anything, a pale finger was pressing it close. He could only stare at Malfoy, who held another finger to his own lips. Shushing him. They were awfully close, and Harry felt heat rising to his cheeks, his heart beating loudly on his chest.

Two sets of steps finally reached Harry’s ears, followed by a well known and dreaded voice. 

“Ten points from Ravenclaw, Fawcett.” A girly squeal broke the silence. “And ten points from Hufflepuff too, Stebbins!”

As soon as the steps seemed to pass them, Harry peeked around the bush. It was Snape, of course, but he was accompanied by Igor Karkaroff, and they seemed to be in the middle of an argument. 

"I wonder what they are talking about," mused Harry.

"I reckon that's none of your business, Potter," said Malfoy. When Harry turned towards him and stared, he frowned. "What is it?". 

Harry pointed at him. "There's a beetle on-"

"Take it off.” Malfoy cringed. “Potter, take it off now."

Harry brought a hand towards the blond hair. The beetle flew away immediately, but Harry hovered. He held a rogue strand between his fingers, awed at how soft it was, and suppressed the urge to place it behind a lovely pink ear. 

"Is it gone?" whispered Malfoy. 

"Not yet," lied Harry. He flickered an imaginary bug, and pull,ed his hand back, not-so-accidentally brushing a delicate cheek. 

Malfoy brought a hand to his ear. “I hate bugs.”

“Then you shouldn’t have hidden us in a bush.”

Malfoy frowned. “It’s your fault.”

“How is it my fault?”

“You make me do stupid things.” Malfoy looked away. “I must be catching your Gryffindor idiocy.”

Harry laughed, his chest feeling wonderfully light. “Sorry about that.” He got to his feet and offered his hand to Malfoy. “Let’s go.” 

Malfoy stared at him, at his outstretched palm, and what should have been a casual gesture suddenly felt terribly important. They looked at each other in silence, before the blond slowly reached for him. Harry caught the pale hand in his immediately, feeling surprised at how cold it was, and pulled Malfoy to his feet. 

“How chivalrous, Potter.”

“Yes, well, I’m a Gryffindor, Malfoy,” said Harry, reluctantly letting go of his hand. “It’s what we do."

\---

The garden was impossibly big, and Harry was sure that if it weren’t for the stone road, one could easily get lost. They walked in silence, and that was the reason they overhead Hagrid’s conversation with Maxime. A pang of alarm struck Harry at the mention of the Groundskeeper’s heritage, and he peeked at Malfoy from the corner of his eyes, but the blond’s face was neutral as he looked back at Harry. 

“He ought to be more careful with the things he says,” stated Malfoy. 

Harry didn’t exactly disagree. “Perhaps, but it shouldn’t matter who his parents are."

“Family is important, Potter,” said Malfoy, looking at him enigmatically. “His heritage might not matter to you, but not many wizards will be as kind. If you value your friend, you should make sure his words don’t reach the wrong ears.”

“Are your ears the wrong ones?” asked Harry, afraid of the answer. 

Malfoy pursed his lips. “Perhaps, but I won’t cause trouble."

“You have been doing that lately. Not causing trouble,” he smiled at the blond. “Hermione and Ron were quite worried when you didn’t complain to Hagrid about walking the Skrewts.”

“Surely they wanted me to do their dirty work for them," scoffed Malfoy. "I’m fully aware that not even you saints like those blasted things."

“Why didn’t you?” asked Harry softly. “You haven’t said a word to Hermione and Ron in weeks either.” 

Malfoy looked away. “I figured you wouldn’t like that”.

“I wouldn’t,” admitted Harry. “It’s good that you didn’t, I like being friends with you”. 

The blond looked at him in surprise. “Friends?”

Harry felt his face heat up. “We are friends, right?”

“I suppose we are.” A small chuckle left Malfoy’s lips. “How bizarre, I was sure I hated you not so long ago.”

“That makes two of us.”

Malfoy shook his head. “Friends with Potter.”

“Harry,” corrected Harry.

“Right,” said Malfoy, giving him a small smile. “Harry”.

“Draco,” said Harry, or maybe he sighed it. He pulled out a small box from his pocket. “Merry Christmas.”

Malfoy- _Draco_ , blinked down at the box, grabbing it when Harry pushed it against his chest. He opened it slowly, thin fingers picking up the small pin inside, eyes carefully studying it. It was round, a little piece of night-sky on which little stars twinkled together, forming a constellation.

“It’s not much,” said Harry, suddenly embarrassed by the gift. “But it reminded me of you, since its-”

“My name,” finished Draco, looking up at him. “I- Thank you, Harry.”

Harry nodded, wishing he had a surface to drum his fingers on. He didn’t notice Draco had moved until there was a round package being pressed into his hands. 

He looked up at Draco, but the other seemed transfixed in the small pin, so Harry opened his gift.

“ _Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion,_ ” he read aloud in amusement. “Is this your way of telling me my hair needs gel?”

“What it needs are scissors.” Draco sniffed. “But this was the next best thing.”

Harry chuckled. “I actually could have used this a few hours ago. My hair wasn’t looking really formal.”

Draco studied him carefully. “It’s not that bad. Plus, the colour of your robes suits you rather well.”

“You think?”

“It brings out your eyes.” 

“That’s what Molly said. Er, Ron’s mom” said Harry awkwardly.

“...I see,” said Draco, sounding a bit strained. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, do you know who invented it?”

“No idea,” admitted Harry.

“Sleekeazy’s was invented by Fleamont Potter."

Harry blinked in surprise. “Potter?”

Draco nodded. “Your grandfather.”

Something fluttered inside Harry’s chest. “Is that why you gave this to me?” 

“Family is important, Harry,” said Draco softly, looking down at his feet. “I thought you might like to know a bit more about yours.”

“I do,” said Harry sincerely, feeling as if he were about to fly away. “It means a lot to me, Draco. Thank you.”

Draco nodded, clearing his throat. “I believe we should go back. I’m sure Weasley is feeling quite lost without you."

Harry had totally forgotten about that. He had told Ron he would be back quick, and it had been at least an hour since. “He is going to kill me.”

\---

They stepped back into the Entrance Hall, Draco telling him what he knew about his grandfather. Harry learned that Fleamont was the son of Henry Potter, a prominent member of the Wizengamot. Before Harry could ask more about him, a loud discussion reached their ears. They looked at each other, both recognising the voices of Harry’s best friends. 

With an apologetic look at Draco, Harry hurried to the Great Hall entrance. Ron stood by the stairs, backing up them slowly as Hermione advanced, face twisted in anger. Ron looked up at him, making Hermione notice him too. 

She looked sad, and Harry frowned, trying to ask her what was wrong. But Hermione yelled at him to go to bed and because he didn’t want to piss her off more, he started heading up the stairs. 

“Next time there's a ball pluck up the courage to ask me before someone else does! And not as a last resort!” yelled Hermione at Ron. 

Harry looked at Draco, standing by the door looking surprised at the scene. Their eyes crossed, and Harry wondered if he had enough courage. As the blond gave him a small smile, Harry hoped he did.


	12. January 2, Monday: Skeeter’s Scoop

The trio could tell something was wrong from the moment they saw a group of Slytherins hanging at the back of the class. That by itself wasn’t unusual, but the amount of whispering coming from the group was never a good sign. 

They passed by them, Harry looking briefly at the group. They were passing a paper around, Parkinson grabbed it and her eyes went big, her mouth curving in surprised amusement. Goyle looked lost, looking a the rest for an explanation. 

Draco stood a bit further from the group along with Zabini, watching over it with an unreadable expression. He noticed Harry, but instead of the usual brief smile that made his chest warm, there was a small shake of his head.

“Where is Hagrid?” asked Hermione, bringing Harry’s attention back to the class. 

As usual, there were magical creatures, unicorns standing behind wooden fences, but there was no sign of Hagrid, his spot taken by an elderly witch with short grey hair.

Professor Grubbly-Plank told them Hagrid was indisposed and firmly dismissed further questions, instead calling the girls to step in the inclosure. The guys were to stay back since unicorns weren’t much fond of them. 

Ron and Harry leaned on the wooden fences, warily watching as the group of Slytherins approached. It was different now, with no one taking the lead with an overconfident white grin, no one calling him by his surname. Instead, they walked together, with amused grins plastered on their faces. 

Nott, Crabbe and Goyle leaned on the fences, the latter holding a copy of the Daily Prophet under his arm. Draco and Zabini watched over them, the latter with an air of aloofness.

Harry looked at Draco again, the blond giving him the same shake of his head, but then adding a flicker of his eyes towards Goyle.

Harry frowned, and Draco let out a dejected sigh. Zabini raised an eyebrow in vague amusement at Draco and, after whispering something at him, approached Harry.

“What do you want, Zabini?” grumbled Ron.

This time, the Slytherin didn’t even spare him a glance, his dark eyes fixed on Harry. “I assume you haven’t glanced at the Daily Prophet yet.”

“Why?” said Harry. 

“I suggest you do,” said Zabini, handing him a copy. He gave Harry a pointed look. “He has been fretting about it all morning, you have no idea how tiring that is. I trust you will fix that for me.”

Harry nodded, fixing his eyes on Draco as Zabini walked away. The blond met his eyes, once again shaking his head, before turning to talk to Zabini. 

Ron came near him to watch over his shoulder as Harry opened the paper, which was crumpled under a clenched fist as soon as Harry spotted the headline of Skeeter’s new article.

\---

Hermione and Ron looked at him weirdly when he told them to go ahead, explaining he wanted to ask something to Grubbly-Plank. Hermione said she doubted the professor would tell him anything else about Hagrid, and Harry happily took on the excuse and insisted he should try. Ron’s stomach growled at that moment too, helping his cause. They left.

Draco stood by the fence, eyes fixed on the unicorns.

“This brings back memories,” he told Harry when he came to lean on the fence beside him.

“It’s different now,” said Harry. “For starters, they are alive.”

Draco kept quiet. 

“I know you didn’t tell her.” 

“How can you be sure?” questioned Draco. “Only we heard them.”

“We don’t know that.” Harry frowned. “Besides, I trust you.”

“Gryffindors. So _trusting_ ” mused Draco with a hint of disdain.

Harry grinned. “Plus, Zabini said you have been fretting all morning about it.”

“Blaise is a rotten liar,” muttered Draco. “I wasn’t _fretting."_

“Sure.” Harry sighed. “I seriously hate that woman."

“Do something about it, then.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Any suggestions?”

“Plenty, but I might _fret_ about them a bit longer."

Harry laughed. “You are so petty, come on.”

“I beg _your_ pardon,” hissed Draco, stepping back from the fence and scowling at him.

“Am I wrong?”

“You certainly are, Potter,” spat the blond, turning on his heel and walking away.

He didn’t stop when Harry called after him, so he followed, the snow making it hard to run. 

Harry caught him by the hand and spun him around. He couldn’t help but laugh at the others surprised expression, receiving a shove for his efforts. Harry refused to let go, and after struggling a bit, Draco let out a theatrical sigh and stilled. His pretty grey eyes studied Harry for a moment.

“I see your hair isn’t much of a mess today,” mused Draco.

Harry felt heat rise to his cheeks. "I wasn't sure I had applied it properly."

"Not able to follow simple instructions, why am I not surprised?" Draco grinned. "Well, despite your lack of brains, you managed. It looks good."

"Gee, thanks," said Harry, a dumb smile threatening to curl up his lips.

"Still needs scissors."

Harry brought a hand to his hair. It was getting quite long. "You might be right about that."

"Get used to it," said Draco, stepping back and pulling Harry towards the castle by the hand. "Hurry it up, Potter, I'm starving."

"What happened to Harry?" asked Harry with a frown, letting himself be pulled. 

"Harry wouldn't call me petty."

Harry laughed at how petty that was and looked at the blond's profile as they walked. His cheeks were tinted pink again by the cursed cold, but his hand was warm in Harry's. Without knowing what he was doing, Harry squeezed it, and his heart almost stopped when Draco squeezed back.

A small grunt pulled Harry from his daze, and he was met with Viktor Krum's stoic face, from where he stood by the snowy steps to the Entrance Hall. The pale hand retreated, and Harry missed it immediately. He returned Krum's greeting, pausing on his steps when his dark eyes looked at him curiously. 

He glanced at Draco's back as he walked away briefly, before turning towards Krum again to ask what he wanted. The Durmstrang student merely studied him, his eyes flickering to Draco for a moment before returning to Harry. 

Krum nodded at him, patting his shoulder twice, and walked away without uttering a single word. 

Harry was left there confused until a pang of hunger hurried him into the Hall.


	13. January 10, Tuesday: Countdown

Harry served himself a bit more of pumpkin juice, calmly sipping at it as he witnessed Ron's frantic race against the clock, as he hurried to finish his essay before lunch ended. 

"Seriously, Ron, you had all weekend to do this," said Hermione. 

"Please, just tell me who invented the damn thing. I can manage the rest," begged Ron.

Hermione refused, chastising him for not organising his time, and Ron whined. 

“It’s distributed by Rubens Winikus and Company Inc.,” said Harry, grinning when his friends looked back at him in surprise. “But the basis for it was invented by Linfred of Stinchcombe.”

_‘Alias the Potterer,’ had said Draco, smiling at Harry’s confusion. ‘The founding patriarch of your family, Harry.’_

Harry hadn’t written that in the essay, figuring Snape wouldn’t like any reminder of him apart from his name at the bottom, but he still remembered it fondly. He didn’t share Draco’s concern with family lines, but knowing a bit more about his was wonderful. Especially when Draco was the one telling him, his posh voice making any story terribly interesting. 

As he took another sip of his juice, Harry let his eyes wander towards the Slytherin table, briefly irritated by how far it was. 

Draco was listening to something Nott was saying, a pretty grin curling his lips. Next to him, Zabini kept his usual expression of distant amusement, before his eyes flickered and met Harry’s. With a smirk, Zabini elbowed Draco, who glowered at him until Zabini pointed at Harry. 

And there it was again, the brief smile that somehow managed to shine all the way to his table and make his breath hitch. Harry immediately smiled back, spilling the pumpkin juice he hadn’t gulped down.

Zabini laughed loudly, startling the nearby Slytherins. Draco swatted him in the arm but kept his lower face hidden behind a pale hand, his shoulders trembling. Harry hurried to wipe the juice from his chin and looked away before he embarrassed himself any further. 

“Harry, what about the properties?” said Ron, eyes glued on his half done essay. “I only have ‘ _Vile taste_ ’.”

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione cut him off, “You shouldn’t help him, Harry. He could have done it yesterday instead of playing chess all night."

“He was the one playing with me!” argued Ron. “He wasn’t doing the essay either.”

Harry shrugged. “I did it on Friday.”

Ron looked at him weirdly. “You did it the same day Snape assigned it?”

“Lately you have been doing quite well at Potions,” commented Hermione, lips pursed. 

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Yes, but quite unusual. Is there a particular reason?”

“Does there have to be a reason?” asked Harry, biting into a muffin.

“I think there is,” said Hermione, a grin growing on her lips. “I think you are seeing someone”.

Harry almost choked on the muffin. He painfully passed it down and shook his head. “No, I’m not”.

“Harry,” said Hermione. “You keep disappearing for hours and coming back smiling. You have been actually grooming your hair so it doesn’t look like a bird's nest-”

“Thanks, Hermione.”

“And you keep sighing to yourself” pointed out Ron.

Harry flushed. “No, I don’t.”

“You _so_ do” laughed Hermione. She leaned forwards with a grin. “So, who is it?”

Ron and her looked expectantly at him.

Telling them would be easy, the problem was what came afterwards. Harry could already picture how bad it could go, and he couldn't risk it. He had to warm them up to the idea first, he needed time. 

“It’s not like that. I’m not _seeing_ them,” tried Harry.

“But you fancy them,” pointed Hermione.

“Come on, mate,” pressed Ron, a wide grin on his face.

Harry wrinkled his nose. "I'll tell you soon, alright? I promise."

Ron and Hermione protested, but Harry refused to say anything else. Instead, he pointed out that lunch would be over soon. It worked with Ron, who immediately doubled over his easy. 

But Hermione kept looking at him, a challenge issued on her clever eyes. And Harry knew he had to act fast. 

\---

The walls of the Potions classroom were lined with shelves, stocked to the fullest with bottles, boxes and jars of ingredients. It spoke of Snape’s mean nature that very fragile bottles were placed at the very top, riskily close to the edge, and cruelly far from Harry and Hermione’s reach. 

“I’m gonna Accio it.”

“Harry, no! The bottles next to it would fall.” Hermione sighed. “Let’s just wait for Ron.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at the bottle of small yellow spines. Snape had told the class to gather the ingredients for Skele-Gro and start brewing it, giving them the period. Then he had held back Ron to hiss at him for presenting an essay in a vaguely legible scrawl. The fact that Ron was the only one among them that could probably reach the damn bottle only made it better for the cruel man.

“What’s the hold-up, Scarhead?” called a voice behind them. 

Harry was already smiling when he turned around, to find Draco standing there with an amused grin on his face.

“Pufferfish spines,” said Harry, as a manner of greeting. 

Draco looked up the shelf, grin growing when he saw the bottle. “Sometimes I forget some people are barely taller than a goblin ” he commented, approaching the self. He brushed by Harry and extended his arm to reach the shelf, his cloak moving out of the way and letting Harry notice the small constellation pinned to his jumper.

The blond took out two bottles and pressed one into Harry’s hand. 

“Here,” he said, before furrowing his eyebrows in concern. “The scarab beetles are near the door, lowest shelf. Think you can reach them?”

“I think I can manage” replied Harry with a grin. “Thanks”.

He watched as the blond walked away, hand clenched around the bottle, still feeling the brush of Draco’s fingers. He looked towards the shelves by the door, but his view was blocked by a very shocked Hermione.

“Did Malfoy just help us?” whispered Hermione.

“He did” replied Harry, making way towards the door. He crouched and started looking for the beetles, easily finding the container. He looked at is as he stood up, fondly remembering the last one he had seen. He looked up to find Hermione looking at him.

“What?” asked Harry, starting to walk to their table.

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows. “Give me the spines.”

Harry reluctantly handed them to her, rolling his eyes when she carefully examined them. “They are fine, Hermione. Just normal pufferfish spines.”

“But Harry, he is _Malfoy,_ ” whispered Hermione. “And you are _you._ ”

Harry looked towards the table Draco shared with Crabbe and Goyle. The blond was already measuring his ingredients carefully, a focused expression on his face. 

“That we are ” mused Harry. He smiled when the blond grimaced at the beetles. “Some things change, I guess.”

Ron joined them, complaining about Snape’s bitterness. Hermione shushed him and told him what happened, in an urgent tone. 

When Snape switched Harry with Crabbe after Ron knocked down the container of beetles in surprise, Harry tried hard to look dejected enough for the man. He wasn’t strong enough to stop himself from grinning when Draco welcomed him with an amused smile, though.


	14. January 20, Friday: Quarrel at the Owlery

As winter progressed, the snow atop of the stairs kept increasing, the grey stone almost completely covered by the whiteness, and the biting cold made one want to rush up them, all care thrown to the air. 

The only positive aspect of winter for Harry, one he wouldn’t say aloud in fear of sounding terribly cheesy, was the lovely pink tinge on Draco’s face caused by the coldness. Even when he kept the lower half of his face covered by a scarf, Harry could still see it on his pale nose. 

However, it probably wasn’t healthy for him to spend so much time exposed to the coldness of the owlery. Warming charms could only do so much, after all. But asking him to hang out in the library, for example, felt like something big, and it brought Harry back to the image of an explorer in unknown territory. 

Draco turned out to be much braver than him in that aspect.

“I was thinking of sending my mother goods from Honeydukes,” said Draco casually, after Harry finished helping him with his Charms essay. “If you are going to Hogsmeade tomorrow, perhaps you could come with me.”

The blond had been putting away his essay on his bag, not looking at him. Which was good, because he missed the embarrassing smile Harry threw at him, and the painful way it died when Harry remembered the date.

“Sorry, I can’t,” sighed Harry, mentally cursing himself. 

“That’s fine,” said Draco with a shrug. “I’m sure you have plans with the weas- with your friends.”

“No, no. I mean, I’m not going to Hogsmeade tomorrow” explained Harry. “I planned to stay and try to solve the egg thing, since the Task is-”

“Wait, you mean you haven’t solved it yet?” asked Draco, now looking at him with a raised eyebrow. 

“There’s still a month to go."

Draco frowned. “Surely you know there must be a reason you were given three months to prepare, Potter.”

“Why am I Potter again?” laughed Harry. “Have I displeased you?”

“People have _died_ in past tournaments,” hissed Draco, definitely not amused. “Why are you being so careless? Do you want to prove Skeeter right?”

Harry gritted his teeth in annoyance. “I already told you I’m solving it tomorrow. Merlin, can you just calm down?” he huffed. 

It had been the wrong thing to say. Draco stood up, grabbing his bag in the same fluid movement. “Fine. See if I care,” he spat.

He didn’t turn back when Harry called for him, and, despite the urge to run after him, Harry kept seated on the bench, arms crossed and head leaning back on the wall. He let out an exasperated sigh, as he listened to the sound of Draco walking away.

\---

“There he is! Back from another escapade,” exclaimed Ron as he walked in. His grin turned into a grimace when he saw Harry’s face. “What happened?” 

Harry let himself plop down on the couch face first, groaning into the fabric.

“Did you have a fight, mate?” asked Ron. 

“Of course he did, Ron. Look at him,” said Hermione. Harry felt a hand softly patting his shoulder. “What happened, Harry?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it” grumbled Harry, voice muffled by the couch. 

“We can help, mate,” said Ron. “Just tell us.”

Harry turned his face towards them. “Do you think I’m being careless about the Tournament?”

“What? Of course not.” Ron frowned. “You did amazing last Task.”

Hermione pursed her lips. “Actually-”

“Not you too,” groaned Harry. 

“Do you want my opinion or not?” hissed Hermione. “The tournament is a serious matter, Harry. Especially since someone wanted you in it. I think you should have started to prepare for the Second Task long ago. You have been rather careless.”

“So I’ve been told,” muttered Harry.

“I was actually about to talk to you about it as well” mused Hermione. “I guess I can add _‘Clever’_ to the list”. 

“Surely you meant _‘Controlling,'_ ” said Ron.

“What list?” asked Harry. 

Ron chuckled. “Hermione is making a list of traits of your secret girlfriend. So far we only have _‘Good at potions'_."

“I told you I was going to tell you about it,” protested Harry.

“It’s been more than a week, Harry,” said Hermione. “You can’t blame us for being curious.”

“It’s just a bit of fun, mate,” said Ron.

“Whatever. I probably ruined it anyway,” muttered Harry.

“I’m sure you didn’t, Harry,” said Hermione softly. “Just tell us what happened”. 

Harry sighed and sat up. “Well, I said that I couldn’t go to Honeydukes with them-”

“Like as a date?” said Ron. He laughed at Harry’s surprised face. “Mate, it was totally a date”.

Harry let his head fall against the back of the couch with a groan. “I’m an idiot.”

“You kind of are,” said Hermione. “So you said you couldn’t?”

“Yes, because I had to stay in to crack the egg.”

Ron snorted. “And she got mad at you, and called you careless.”

“Not without reason” pointed out Hermione. “And what did you say?”

“I just asked them to calm down,” said Harry sheepishly.

“Mate,” said Ron with a grimace. “My mom hates when we say that.”

Hermione gasped. “Harry! You didn’t! They were just worried about you.”

“I can see that now,” groaned Harry. He looked up at his friends. “I messed up”.

“Yes,” agreed Ron. “But this girlfriend of yours sounds kinda _prissy_ too”

Harry snorted. “You could say that.” He then flushed. “It’s not like that! We are not-!”

“And you won’t be,” said Hermione. She pointed at him with a finger. “Unless you apologise”

“I could go to Honeydukes ” tried Harry.

“Have you forgotten the root of the problem? The task, Harry!” said Hermione. “No, I’ll go with Ron and buy something nice for them. You stay here and solve the damn thing.”

Ron nodded, then a puzzled expression crossed his face. “You are not dating Hermione, right?”

Two pillows were simultaneously thrown at his face.


	15. January 21, Saturday: Crack The Egg

Harry watched his friends leave the castle along with the rest of students and sighed. Hermione had made him promise to start with the egg immediately after they left, so he would probably have a tiring day ahead.

“You are surely not planning to go,” stated a cold voice behind him.

“I wasn’t,” said Harry, turning to look at Draco. 

The blond was frowning at him, grey eyes studying him carefully. He was dressed casually, but not warm enough for the cold weather of Hogsmeade. Harry frowned a bit at that, and the blond might have taken it the wrong way since he narrowed his eyes and spun on his heel.

This time Harry hurried after him to grab him by the arm.

“What is it?” asked the blond coolly, frowning down at him.

Harry grimaced. “You were right, I should take the Tournament more seriously.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. _‘And?’_ it said.

“And I’m sorry for being a git to you, Draco,” finished Harry, looking up at him earnestly.

Draco looked away, “It’s fine,” he said. “I already knew you were a bit of a troll anyway.”

Harry smiled at him. “Great”. He gently squeezed the arm on his grip and frowned when he noticed that the fabric was way too thin for the weather. “You are going to freeze to death if you go out like that.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Weren’t you going to buy sweets for your mom?” asked Harry.

“I’ve got that taken care of,” said Draco haughtily. “I have other business to attend to.”

“Oh,” said Harry dejectedly.

Draco nodded. “So? What do you have planned?”

“Me?”

“With the egg, you troll.” Draco sighed. “Do you have any clue where to start?”

“There’s one, but-” Harry blinked. “Wait, are you staying here to help me?”

Draco scoffed. “Of course I am. There’s a month left, Harry. And you are rather slow.” The blond stepped back a little, adjusting his jumper. He noticed Harry staring at him. “What is it? We don’t have much time.” 

“I know, it’s just-” Harry studied him, a smile growing on his face. “Thank you for being worried about me. Now, and yesterday as well."

The blond’s pale face went pink. “Oh, shut up. I’m not worried,” he said, looking away. “I just can’t let you embarrass the whole school.”

"You could help Diggory, then," teased Harry. 

Draco scrunched his nose. "As if I'd ever help a _Hufflepuff_."

"But you would help a _Gryffindor._ " 

"Not just any Gryffindor," muttered Draco. He frowned at Harry's grin. "Besides, it's better than a Hufflepuff."

"So I'm the lesser of two evils."

Draco smiled at him. "Exactly. Now, hurry it up."

\---

The Prefect’s Bathroom was enormous, even among the other big rooms of the castle, and quite luxurious. It’s most impressive feature was the bath, big enough to be called a pool and with a fountain-like structure on one of its corners, that held multiple golden bath taps. 

Harry was impressed, but Draco seemed thoroughly bored as he looked around, eyes lazily wandering around the room. Knowing him, he probably had ten bathrooms double the size at home, the git.

“Tell me again why we are here,” said the blond, as he frowned at the glass coloured mermaid on a window

"Diggory told me it's a good place to take a bath," explained Harry. “I’m guessing the key to solve the egg is around here.”

Draco turned his frown towards him. "Or perhaps he was just telling you to take a bath."

"Very funny," said Harry. "Well, let's give it a try." He grabbed at the sides of the golden egg. 

Two pale hands were immediately over his. "I'm not letting you destroy my eardrums again," hissed Draco. “Don’t just open it!”

“Do you have a better idea?” asked Harry. “You should because you had plenty of them when I opened it at the owlery."

“I have no idea what you are talking about." Draco sniffed. “Now, what did Diggory say to you exactly?"

"To bring the Egg with, and-" Harry blinked. "And give it a soak. Let's splash water on it."

“No, no. You have to get it in the bath with you. That’s what the handsome one did,” came a familiar, yet unpleasant voice. 

Myrtle was hovering over a bathroom stall, looking quite pleased with herself. Her eyes sparkled when they noticed Draco. “Oh, Harry, who’s your friend? He is so handsome,” she cooed.

“Cedric took it into the bath with him?” repeated Harry, not liking the way the girl leered at Draco.

Myrtle let out a sigh. “Yes, handsome Cedric Diggory. It took him so long to figure it out, that the bubbles disappeared. You should try it too, Harry."

“I believe there’s no need for that,” said Draco coldly.

Myrtle giggled. “Then what about you?”.

Harry felt his face heat up as he stepped between them. “Leave him alone, Myrtle.”

“Moaning Myrtle? Weren’t you supposed to be in the girls' bathroom on the second floor?” said Draco. Harry could hear the sneer on his voice. “Are you here to perv on students? I ought to have you reported, you revolting corpse.”

Myrtle cooed at him. “Oh, Harry. He’s so sharp, and his voice, so fancy, like a prince.” She let out a dreamy sigh. “What’s his name?”

“What’s my name?” hissed Draco, looking very offended. He turned his nose up. “I’ll have you know that I’m Malfoy, Draco Malfoy. Only heir to-”

The ghost let out a delighted giggle. “What a weird name! So fancy! And an heir? Oh, Harry, he _is_ a prince- Is he single?”

“Myrtle!” called Harry. “I have to get the egg underwater and then what?”

“Oh, are you doing it?” cooed Myrtle. “You are making me blush! Yes, take a bath with it!”

“No way!” cut in Draco, glaring daggers at Myrtle. “He’s not doing that! Not with you here!”

Myrtle pouted. “But don’t you want to listen to the egg? It’s very important, you know!”

“If he needs to listen to it underwater, he only needs to get his head in,” said Draco. His cheeks were slightly pink as he added, “There’s no need for anything else."

Myrtle puffed her cheeks. “You are so annoying! You’re lucky you are handsome!”

Harry hurried to fill the pool, not wanting to keep Draco and Myrtle together much longer. If they started bickering again, Harry would have to open the egg to give his ears a break. He made sure the water rose close to the edge before closing the tap.

Draco came to his side, Myrtle floating behind him. They watched as Harry knelt beside the bath and submerged the Golden Egg under the warm water. Draco placed a hand on his back, and send a withering look at Myrtle when she started to come closer. She giggled and kept still. 

“Here goes nothing,” said Harry, and opened the egg. The shrill didn’t come, instead, there was a pretty golden glow and a muffled voice. He looked at Draco, before submerging his head in. The hand on his back gently supporting him. 

\---

When he emerged again, hair soaked and mind repeating the cryptic message, Draco and Myrtle were talking again. 

“Harry’s a _bad boy_ , did you know?” Myrtle sighed. “Two years ago he-”

“Shut up, Myrtle!” hurried Harry, calling their attention to him. 

Draco raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Oh? Do tell."

“Oooh, he brewed a bit of Polyjuice Potion," cooed Myrtle. She laughed at Harry’s expression. “Are you being a bad boy again, Harry? I believe I saw some Polyjuice when I swam through the pipes the other day."

“Polyjuice Potion?” repeated Draco, now frowning at him.

“Don’t you want to hear about the Egg?” tried Harry.

“I want to hear about both,” said Draco retreating his hand from Harry’s back. “Start with the Egg."

Harry repeated the message to him, taking a seat on the edge of the pool as the blond went to grab a towel for him. 

Draco let out a hum as he returned, his steps echoing in the bathroom. He passed him the towel with a frown. “Sounds to me like you’ll have to retrieve some kind of treasured object. Any ideas of what it might be?”

“Probably the badge you made,” joked Harry, as he started drying his hair with the towel. 

“Yes, that’s the most valuable thing you own, I’d bet. Especially since I made it. So-” His eyebrows furrowed. “Will you stop that?”

“Stop what?” said Harry. He went to rub his hair again, halting when Draco grabbed his wrist.

“ _That!_ There’s no wonder your hair is such a mess,” scoffed Draco. Their fingers brushed as he reached for the towel. “Here, just let me-”

Their eyes met and Harry realised how close they were. Draco was standing just in front of him, close enough for Harry to lean his forehead on his belly if he wanted to. The pretty grey eyes widened as the blond became aware of their proximity, and he made to step back. Harry grabbed his hand.

“Okay,” he whispered, pressing the towel into his hands.

Draco blinked at him and stood quiet for so long that Harry thought he had made a terrible mistake. His heart drummed on his ears as he waited for the blond to refuse him.

But Draco gave him a silent nod and slowly placed the towel on Harry’s hair. He seemed to take in a little breath, his chest puffing just so slightly before he started pressing down gently, carefully squeezing tufts of dark hair with the towel. 

Harry could only stare up at him, trying to take in every detail and engrave it on his memory. Draco was unusually quiet, his eyes completely focused on his movements. His pale cheeks were dusted pink and Harry felt his heart sore with hope because the bathroom wasn’t cold, nor too hot.

Draco’s hands were gentle on his hair, and Harry felt he could fall asleep like that if it weren’t for the way his heartbeat refused to slow down. He couldn’t help but let out a pleased sigh when Draco’s fingers accidentally brushed his hair without the towel and watched happily as the other smiled. 

They stayed like that for what could have been either seconds or hours, Harry not really paying attention to time or anything that wasn’t the blond. He only broke out of his daze when the hands stopped, Draco casting the towel aside as he passed his fingers through Harry’s hair, eyes carefully studying it.

“It needs a cut,” mused Draco, voice barely a whisper.

“Yes,” said Harry, looking up at him. The grey eyes finally met his and his heart stopped.

Draco’s fingers ran through his damp hair, stopping at the base of his head. Harry softly placed his own hands over the pale ones and watched as the blond took a deep breath.

“Harry,” he breathed out. “I-”

“I’m still here, you know,” called a shrill voice, which quickly rose to the top of the list of Harry’s most hated things in the world. 

_‘Is it possible to kill a ghost again?’_ thought Harry, as he let the hands under his retreat when Draco, startled by the voice, took a step back. 

The blond looked away, grabbing the towel off his shoulder and fiddling with it. He cleared his throat, “We should leave before a Prefect decides to take a bath,” he said, making way to the door. Before exiting, he added, “I’ll keep an eye out.”

Harry stored the egg on his bag and went to follow him. He sent Myrtle a deep scowl, but the girl only giggled at him. 

“I get it, Harry,” she said, “He’s really handsome.”

\---

Harry entered the common room feeling as if he walked on air. Despite Myrtle’s unfortunate interruption at the end, Harry couldn’t help but grin like an idiot as he remembered the way Draco had blushed, how he had brushed his hair and looked at him. There was hope, beautiful glorious hope for him.

He took a seat on the couch, and let his head rest on the back of it, and he let himself remember it all. How Draco had refused to look at him in the eyes as they made way to the stairs, how he had mumbled a quick goodbye before walking away, how Harry had stared at him for so long one of the paintings asked him if he was okay.

Harry hadn’t wiped the smile off his face when people started pouring into the room, covered in snow and carrying what they had bought. Some looked at him weirdly, Seamus straight out asked him if he was okay, but he couldn’t be bothered but to raise his hand in a vague greeting.

Ron and Hermione barged in, the latter looking quite irritated. That _did_ manage to wipe the smile off his face. “What happened?” he asked.

Hermione huffed, taking a seat next to him. “Rita Skeeter happened. That vile woman."

Ron placed their bags on the table and sat down on his other side. “Hermione had a bit of an argument with her about Hagrid. She called her a-”

“It doesn’t matter what I called her,” cut in Hermione. She let out a sigh, “I don’t want to talk about it, alright. Let’s talk about something pleasant. Ron, if you may."

Ron smiled and leaned towards their bags, taking out a small blue box and giving it to Harry. “Here you go."

“We didn’t know what to buy. Ron insisted on Jelly Slugs, but I find them rather gross,” said Hermione.

“They are delicious,” protested Ron. “Better than Toothflossing Stringmints."

“Anyway! We were there, feeling quite lost, and guess who we ran into?” Hermione grinned.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know, Neville?”

“Zabini and Parkinson,” said Ron. 

“Apparently they overheard us because Parkinson turned around and sneered at the Chocolate Frogs we had grabbed,” explained Hermione, pointing at the blue box, “ Zabini told us we ought to grab some of those."

Ron shrugged. “We figured they must be good if a posh git like him likes them."

Harry looked down at the small box of toffees, a smile growing on his lips. “Thank you, guys,” he said. “I think he will like them”.

He noticed his slip up and looked up at his friends cautiously. Ron seemed a bit surprised, but he smiled and leaned over to ruffle Harry’s hair. “Of course, mate.”

Hermione smiled at him and then proceeded to ask about his day. Harry told her about the message and laughed when Ron asked why was he smiling at the prospect of getting into the Black Lake in winter.


	16. February 18, Saturday: Brief Intermission

"You are going to freeze in there," said Draco, pointedly looking at the lake.

They were taking a walk by it, Harry having managed to invite him under the excuse of preparing for the Task. 

Draco's agreement had been a bit hesitant. He had been quieter lately, more aware of their proximity when they studied together. He hadn't mentioned what happened at the bathroom again, and Harry hadn't asked either, not wanting to push him away. 

But Merlin, how badly he wished he could. Ask him about it, and listen to what Draco had wanted to say. To feel those hands cradle his face again, to look into the breathtaking grey eyes and listen to his name out of the other's lips. 

_'He will tell me when he's ready'_ thought Harry, as they walked along the Lake.

"Have you come out with a way to stay underwater for that long?" asked Draco. "There's less than a week left, now".

There was a gravity to his voice that spoke of his concern, and Harry let out a sigh. 

"Not yet," he said. "Hermione is helping me look into plants now, but so far no luck".

Draco licked his lips, a frown on his face. 

"Don't worry, I'll find a way," promised Harry. When the blond looked at him, he gave him a smile. "I can't embarrass the whole school, now, can I?".

"No, you can't," said Draco. He looked around the lake again. "If it's plants you are looking for, shouldn't you ask Longbottom? Isn't he kind of obsessed with them?".

Harry blinked. "How do you know that?".

"Slytherins know everything," said Draco. He grinned when Harry rolled his eyes at him and added, "And Pansy is a force to reckon when it comes to gossiping. Especially if it's something she finds funny".

Harry frowned. "You mean something she can laugh at".

"Didn't he _name_ his cactus?" asked Draco. 

"Maybe," said Harry. "But everyone has weird hobbies".

"I don't" retorted Draco.

"What about making badges?" teased Harry.

"That was one time, Potter" muttered Draco, shoving Harry when he laughed. "Whatever. Longbottom's weird obsession may turn out to be useful now. So make sure to ask him". 

"Yes, sir" joked Harry. 

Draco paused on his steps and turned to face him fully. He looked at him in the eyes, "Harry" he said sternly. 

Harry held his arms, squeezing them lightly. "I am taking this seriously, I promise. I'll ask Neville tonight, I'm sure he will be happy to help and bring out all the books he has and won't let me sleep until he tells me all about Mandrakes".

Draco cracked a smile at that, and Harry licked his lips. "I think Moody gave him another one, actually".

"Moody?" Draco frowned. "Why?". 

"I think he wanted to apologise for what happened during class" grimaced Harry, already regretting mentioning the man.

"That man is an absolute lunatic" muttered Draco. "What was Dumbledore thinking when he hired him?".

"That we needed a teacher and there were no applicants, probably". He squeezed Draco's arm. "Maybe I could ask him to turn me into a fish".

"That's not funny, Harry," said Draco, shoving him away, but another smile appeared on his face. 

They walked back to the castle, parting ways near the entrance. Harry watched him disappear down a corridor, and then made way to the common room.

Neville had way too many books on Herbology.


	17. February 24, Friday: Freezing Water

“Are you sure this is gonna work?” asked Harry, looking at the green bundle of plants on his hands Neville had given him. “For an hour?”

“I think so,” said Neville.

Harry stopped walking, “You _think so_?”

“The effects might differ between freshwater and saltwater.”

Harry looked at him. “For both of our sakes, Neville,” he said gravely, thinking about Draco. “I really hope it works.”

\---

The water was cold, and Harry was sure that if it weren’t for the resistance the Gillyweed gave him, it would be freezing. He wasn’t sure of how much time it had passed since he got in, everything looking the same underwater, but he had finally reached what seemed to be ruins. 

There were figures floating near the middle, held by ropes and surrounded by a large group of merpeople. Treasures for the champions to rescue.

 _‘That’s what the message meant’_ thought Harry as he swam closer. 

He somehow managed to do full stop underwater when he saw the pale hair, ghostly white under the green darkness of the water. His heart jumped, and he swam faster towards it. 

But the hair was too long, and the figure too small.

It wasn’t _him_ , but for a moment Harry thought it _was_ , and the realisation that it _could_ have been froze him in place again. 

It was the sudden approach of a shark what startled him out of it. He was running out of time.

\---

Fleur’s hands cradled his face as she thanked him for saving her sister. Harry couldn't even get a word in before she planted a kiss on his cheek and went on to thank Ron.

Soon there was a towel thrown on his head, and he looked up hopefully. But it was Hermione, with Krum behind her. He was frowning at him.

“Harry,” grunted Krum, giving him a stern look. “A taken man shouldn’t let himself be kissed by someone other than their pair.”

Harry blinked at him, before giving a firm nod.

That seemed to please Krum, because he stepped back, his frown giving way to his usual stoic expression. Hermione gaped between them and tried to ask Krum about it, but the older student only managed to point out there was a beetle on her hair before the judges started announcing the scores. 

\---

"I see you didn't drown," drawled a posh voice behind them.

Harry turned around and watched as Draco, closely followed by his two friends, made way through the little crowd of Gryffindors that had been walking along Harry, ignoring the wary looks they sent at him.

"I didn't," said Harry, standing up straight with a proud grin.

Draco came to stand before him, eyebrows raised in amusement. “You sound quite proud for being the slowest one.”

Harry shrugged, “I’m still on first place.” Technically, he was tied with Cedric for it, but that didn’t sound as good. 

“Oh? So you _are_ proud,” grinned the blond. 

“I am.” Harry grinned back.

Draco’s eyes softened a bit. “Good.”

Harry was probably smiling dumbly. “Good.”

They looked at each other until someone cleared their throat and Draco took a step back, looking away.

“Make sure you drown in the next one, Scarhead,” said the blond. 

“I doubt it will be on the Lake again, Draco,” said Zabini. He started pushing the blond towards the castle. “Let’s go, before you embarrass us any further.”

Parkinson followed behind, and the group only paused to give Draco the chance to glare at Neville until the boy took a step back in fear. Then Zabini kept directing them to the castle.

"Crazy Slytherins. What's their problem?" muttered Ron.

Harry didn't answer, too busy looking at the trio walking away, and not noticing the pair of curious brown eyes studying his face.

\---

The steps to the owlery were as slippery as they could get, but Harry didn't care. He didn't care that his hair was a bit damp and that he would definitely get a cold either. He only cared about getting there, as fast as he could. 

Draco grinned at him when he walked in, already having finished tying a letter to his owl. The bird took off, and the blond approached him. 

"You absolute troll," he laughed, giving Harry a light shove. "You could have won first place but _of course_ you had to be a hero and stay behind."

Harry shrugged. "It turned out well," he grinned up at him.

"It's like everything ends up working for you, lucky bastard," mused Draco. His eyebrows furrowed. "For a second there I thought Longbottom had killed you. If you hadn't-" 

"I thought I saw you," blurted out Harry.

Draco blinked. " _Me?_ "

"Under the Lake, with the others."

Draco let out a little laugh. "Harry, those under the lake were supposed to be _'Treasures'_ , as the loony man said. Very important people to the champions, why would-"

"You are important to me," said Harry, feeling his blood rush, heating his face. "I realised that when I thought I saw you. That you could have been there. For me."

Draco's mouth fell into little 'o', his eyes opening in surprise and a blush growing on his pale cheeks. "Harry," he whispered, taking a step closer. "What are you saying?"

Harry felt his throat dry, and took a deep breath, summoning all his Gryffindor bravery. But when he looked into the pretty grey eyes he had come to like so much, the words he had wanted to say for a long time finally slipped out easily. 

"I like you, Draco," he said. "And I like you a lot."

The blond's eyes crinkled at the corners, and he raised two pale hands to cradle Harry's head gently. His fingers brushed his hair, and the pale eyebrows furrowed slightly. 

"Your hair," whispered Draco, so close Harry could feel his breath. "It's still damp."

"It is" agreed Harry, his eyes flickering to the other's lips. "You could dry it," he whispered, not minding if that made sense or not.

He didn't know who moved first, or if both of them did, but the small gap between them was closed and a pair of soft lips were on his, and Harry couldn't bring himself to think of anything else as he fluttered his eyes close.

He could feel Draco's hands on his hair, firmly pulling his face closer, and his waist under his hands as he did the same. The kiss was gentle, slow and sweet, and Harry smiled into it, feeling over the moon when Draco did too. 

Even when they broke apart, each taking in the cold air they had lost, they didn't step back. Their foreheads rested on each other, and Draco let out a little laugh and it was perfect.

Right until the moment a flash went off, like freezing cold water or a slap to the face. They pulled back, hands still holding on each other, and clenching tightly as they realized who stood in front of them.

"Oh! Young love!" exclaimed Rita Skeeter, waving her smoking camera. Her hair was in disarray, as if she had been running. "I've been after you for a while, but this is the money shot! You are absolutely adorable together, I'm sure everyone will think that."

Harry's heart sank as he felt Draco pull away from him. He took a step forward towards the woman, "You-" 

"No, no, Harry," chastised the vile woman. "Do not try to deny it, now. It would break his heart." Her eyes flickered to Draco. "Have a nice evening, you two," she added before hurrying down the stairs.

Harry went after her, but she was gone, the slippery stairs hadn’t been enough to stop her. 

Draco was pacing around the owlery when Harry returned, face pale and eyes wide in fear. His breathing had become erratic, as he passed his fingers through his hair nervously.

Harry stopped him, grabbing his arms and trying to meet his eyes. "Draco," he called. "It's alright. It'll be alright."

"No, Harry," whispered the blond urgently, holding onto him as if drowning. "You don't understand. My father-" He brought a hand to his mouth. "Merlin, what am I doing?"

"Draco-"

"No." Draco stepped away from him. "I can't do this to them. This is a mistake. I-"

It hurt, and Harry couldn't help but reel back. "A mistake?" he repeated.

Draco finally met his eyes. "No. Harry, you don't understand, my family-"

"Does it really matter that much?" asked Harry. "Shouldn't they love you no matter what?"

"They would!" hissed Draco. "But I can't do this to them!"

Harry felt his mouth curl into a snarl. "So you are just going to walk away. Just like that," he spat, hating how bitter be sounded. "Like a _coward._ "

Draco glowered at him, and it felt as if they had jumped back a year, but way worse. "You are one to talk," he spat coldly. "Pretending I'm the only one trying to hide. Do your friends even know we talk?" He took a step closer. "Have you told them?"

"Not yet," said Harry. "It's not that-"

"Because mine do," hissed Draco, jabbing a finger into Harry’s chest. "So why haven't you told them, Potter?"

"Because-"

"Why?!" yelled Draco, jabbing him again. 

"Because it's _you_!" yelled Harry without thinking. He covered his mouth as he witnessed the flash of pain that crossed through the other's eyes. He took a step forwards. "I didn't mean-"

"It's better this way, then," said Draco coldly, but Harry caught the way his voice trembled and that hurt more than anything. Even when tears started to spill from his grey eyes, Draco's anger didn't disappear from his voice as he spat, "I don't want to see you anymore."

Harry stood there, frozen to the spot as the blond walked away, even as the last light of the day withered and died. 

\---

It was late when he dragged himself into the common room, his body hurting from the cold of the owlery. He knew he had missed dinner, but hoped that not by too long.

Hermione and Ron were still awake and stood up from their seats on the couch as he walked into the room, looking equally upset.

"Where were you, Harry?" hissed Hermione. "It's been hours since we last saw you. I talked to Viktor and-"

"Is it true, Harry?" said Ron angrily. "Is it true? Is it _Malfoy_?"

Ron spat the name in such a horrible way; angry, disgusted, hateful. The same way Harry had said that name before, the name of the boy with a malicious grin, and sharp words; of the boy who was petty, and prissy, who had a posh voice, and talked to Harry about his family. Who helped him with Potions and teased him for his mistakes. Who had the prettiest eyes Harry had ever seen, and the prettiest laugh he had ever heard. The name of the boy Harry liked. Draco’s name.

And it was the last straw for Harry, as he remembered that boy was not his anymore, that it was all over. He looked at his friends, witnessing how their upset faces turned into surprised horror as tears started blurring his vision. 


	18. March 4, Saturday: A Scoop of Skeeter

If there was one word to describe Harry's week, it would have to be _tense_. It could have been _miserable_ , or _sad_ too, but it was _tense_ the one that applied to everything around him. 

His interactions with his friends were tense. He could tell Hermione and Ron were as lost as he was. 

That night, after passing the shock of Harry's sudden tears, Ron had started fuming, confusion leading to anger. And Harry had felt himself getting angry too, waiting for the next moment Ron spat his name again. But Hermione had been there, her presence a call to order. She had sat them down and demanded Harry told them everything.

And Harry told them everything. Told them about feeling lonely and bitter after Halloween, about the visits to the owlery and the odd truce he had started with Draco, about the day he breached their silence with a bottle of ink. He told them about the badges, and the essays, about the Yule Ball, the gifts and the moment _Malfoy_ turned into _Draco_. He told them about their fight and its resolution. He didn't tell them about the Prefect's Bathroom, about the softness of Draco's hands, and the way he had whispered his name; because that moment, unlike the owlery, laid untainted, for Harry to cradle to his chest and keep away from everything. 

He told them about the owlery, about the warm kiss and the cold bath of reality that followed, in the form of Rita Skeeter. 

His friends had asked questions. Had asked him why he breached their silence in the first place. Why he had kept meeting with him. Why he had lied to them. Why Draco Malfoy. 

And Harry had tried to answer. Because he felt bad. Because he was curious. Because he was afraid. And because how couldn't he.

Ron had looked as if he had swallowed something bitter. Not angry, and definitely not happy, just troubled. He had told Harry he was an idiot, and that he ought to be mad at him. But he had stayed there next to him and tried to listen.

Hermione had looked at him with sadness in her eyes, which increased with everything he had said. Her eyes had flashed calm fury when he mentioned Skeeter, and she had grabbed his hands and told him: "We can fix this." 

So his relationship with his friends was tense, but they were still there for him. And Harry was grateful for that. 

\---

The other reason for Harry's tense week was Draco. The world hadn't stopped, so Hogwarts hadn't either. He saw the blond during meals and classes, but he seemed to have disappeared from anywhere else. 

Harry had only gone to the owlery once, but it had been empty. The owls had looked down at him, as if reproachful, and he had stared back for a moment before leaving.

During classes, they kept to their respective groups, as they had done for the past years. The difference being that Draco didn’t seem to acknowledge him in any way, and Harry thought that even an insult would be better than that. Potions was worse than Care of Magical Creatures, the confinement of the dungeons making it impossible to no look at the blond. Draco hadn’t lost his precision, but he didn’t smile at the cauldron anymore, his mouth a thin line. 

Harry had considered dropping his bowl of ingredients, or his entire cauldron if it meant to stand by him again. But it wouldn’t do any good, for neither of them. So he kept his ingredients safe and tried to keep up. He wondered if Snape knew or had a vague idea, because the man looked especially sour, not even pleased with Harry’s flawed essay. 

The only instance the grey eyes had met his had been two days ago, as he and his friends had been crossing the castle on their way to visit Hagrid. They had doubled a corner, Ron complaining about Charms class to Hermione’s irritation, and on the other side of the hall, another trio had doubled a corner at the same time. 

Time stopped when his eyes met the grey ones, as if they had been seeking for them all this time and they could finally rest now, sighing ‘ _There you are’_. The grey eyes were as pretty as ever, even from all the way across the hall, but they weren’t smiling at him. Their corners had fallen when they saw him, and Harry wanted to run across the hall and hold their owner close to him. 

A hand fell on his shoulder, and time started running again. Draco stepped back, turning heel and doubling the corner again, Harry’s half-raised hand not enough to stop him. Zabini visibly sighed, throwing Harry an annoyed look before following after his friend. But Parkinson stood there, glaring darkly at him, hand clenching around her wand. 

“Stay away, Potter,” she warned, before going after her friends.

“Let’s go, mate,” said Ron, his hand still on Harry’s shoulder.

Hagrid had been concerned about him, throwing Hermione a questioning look. She had only shaken her head sadly, and Hagrid could only pat him in the shoulder and try to distract him with the Third Task.

\---

The third reason Harry had been tense all week was Rita Skeeter. He had gone down to breakfast on Monday already expecting the staring that came with an article, knowing it would be even worse now. 

What they had done wasn’t a bad thing, in any way, but the Malfoys were a well-known family, and to Harry’s dismay, he was well-known too. People would have a field day with the news, and Harry was sure Lucius Malfoy wouldn’t be pleased at all.

So he had sat down on the table expecting the worse.

But Skeeter’s article hadn’t come out on Monday, nor Tuesday, nor Wednesday. And now it had been more than a week and the woman was nowhere to be seen, which only made Harry feel that whatever she was planning grew worse by the day.

Today, he sat on the library, doing his Potions essay along with Ron and under Hermione’s supervision. He couldn’t help but miss the posh voice and unrelenting teasing that usually came with the process, and he found out that Potions had become his most hated class once again.

The trio was startled when, in the silence of the library, a jar was loudly placed on their table. They looked up in surprise at the sneering Pansy Parkinson that had done it.

“Potter, Weasel,... _Granger,_ ” said the girl, tapping the glass jar calmly despite the trembling beetle inside. “Afternoon.” 

“Parkinson” greeted Hermione tersely, clasping her hands together on the table. 

Parkinson's nose twitched in disdain. “I thought I might ask, do you remember what happened in our first class with Mad-Eye?”

The trio exchanged glances at the odd topic. “Why are you asking?” asked Ron.

“Just answer. What did he show us?” insisted Parkinson, her eyes narrowing. “With the spider."

“The Unforgivable Curses,” said Hermione slowly, eyes widening when the beetle inside the jar jumped. “He tried them on the spider. Parkinson, why-”

The girl smirked at the beetle. “Do you think he would accept giving another demonstration?” Her voice was malicious as she gave the jar a little shake. “If I give him a subject?”

Ron scowled. “That is disgusting-”

“I’m sure he would,” said Hermione suddenly and Harry and Ron turned to look at her to make sure she hadn’t gone crazy.

Parkinson licked her lips and leaned close to the jar. “Did you hear that?” she singsonged. “You know now, I wasn’t kidding.” She accompanied every word with a tap of her finger. The beetle was fully trembling now, running around the jar in a wild race to nowhere. 

Looking like the cat that ate the canary, Parkinson stood up straight. Her face turned serious when she looked at Harry, “I couldn’t care less about you, Potter. But I’m telling you this. Stop waiting for your article,”

Harry gaped, his eyes going back towards the beetle. It was black and big and had unusual markings around the front that looked like glasses. 

“How did you do it?” asked Hermione. “I knew she had a way to get information, but I-”

“I reckon that’s none of your business, Granger,” cut in Parkinson. “I already said what I had to, so I’m taking my leave.”

"Hold on," hurried Hermione, standing up. "What are you going to do with her?"

Parkinson raised an eyebrow. "What are you proposing?" 

Hermione frowned. "I was thinking she could use a vacation from work." 

" _My_ , are you still bitter about your article?" Parkinson let out a laugh. “For your information, I was planning to do just that. But since you are offering, and I find beetles gross…” She left the jar at the table and gave Hermione a threatening glare. “You better not let her go, Granger,” she warned before turning on her heel and walking away.

Harry, Ron and Hermione looked at each other. “I don’t understand,” said Ron, who had been following the conversation with increasing confusion. “What’s up with the beetle?” 

“I’ll tell you later- Harry, where are you going?” asked Hermione when he stood up.

Harry stuffed his things on his bag. “I have to talk to her.” He ignored his friends' protests. “I’ll be quick.”

He went after Parkinson, crossing the library as fast as he could walk. He caught her at the hall outside. "Parkinson!" he called as he approached her. “Please, wait.”

"Don't even try it, Potter," she replied coldly without slowing down.

"Parkinson, please,” insisted Harry. “I just want to know how he is.”

“He is fine,” said Parkinson. “Now leave me alone.”

Harry kept her pace. “I need to talk to him, I-”

Parkinson halted at once, turning to glare at him. “No.”

“Parkinson, we have to talk-”

“He is doing fine,” hissed Parkinson. “Just stay away from him, Potter.”

Harry frowned at her. “Parkinson, I can’t-”

“Let me make this easy for you to understand,” she said with a saccharine voice. “He doesn’t want to see you anymore. He has come to his senses and realised that you-” she tapped a finger on his chest “-are not worth it. So forget about him, okay?”

She left then, leaving Harry to stand in the middle of the hall, feeling lost.

\---

“I think she’s right,” said Ron later, at the common room.

“Ron!” exclaimed Hermione.

“Not about you not being worth it, of course,” clarified Ron. “But Harry, you know how things are. First of all, he and his family are a bunch of blood purists, and you are a half-blood. So it wouldn’t go anywhere.”

“Ron!”

“Come on, Hermione, you know I’m right,” protested Ron. “Plus, Harry, Malfoy is a git.”

“He is not,” growled Harry. 

“Mate, remember last year? He tried to have Buckbeak killed, for Merlin’s sake."

“I remember, but it’s different now, Ron.”

“Really?” said Ron, raising an eyebrow. “Because he _did_ call you a mistake, didn’t he?” 

“Ronald!” hissed Hermione.

Ron grimaced. “Listen, mate. I just think you should forget about him.” He waved his hands. “I mean, there is plenty of sea for the fishes, as the muggles say.”

“That’s not even how the saying goes, Ron,” said Hermione. “And you can’t just ask Harry to forget everything like that. You are so insensitive!”

“Maybe I should,” said Harry, and Hermione turned to look at him in confusion. “He doesn’t want to see me, Hermione,” he whispered, trying to ignore how painful the words were.

“But, Harry,” protested Hermione softly. “I thought you liked him.”

“I do.” Harry sighed, looking down at his hands. “I really do. But maybe it’s better this way.”

“Harry,” said Hermione sadly, placing a hand on his arm.

“If he’s better this way,” said Harry. “Then I’ll have to leave him alone.” 

_‘Even if I don’t want to’_ didn’t add Harry, but when Hermione pulled him into a hug, he figured it wasn’t necessary. His friends knew.


	19. May: Long Intermission

Harry’s routine through the next months went back to what it used to be before October; classes, meals, and then the library, Hagrid’s, or just the common room with his friends. He even went to Dumbledore’s office once, and accidentally stumbled upon a Pensieve. 

Ron and Hermione were back to normal now, as if nothing had happened, or as if they had forgotten everything. It was nice, so Harry didn’t tell them how wrong it all felt, to not go to the owlery, to not search for grey eyes during meals, or find brief smiles directed at him. 

He didn’t tell them how much it hurt every time they passed by each other at the halls, and the blond wouldn’t even spare him a glance. Or when their eyes met during Potions, and the grey ones would only pause for a second before continuing their path.

Draco wasn’t smiling as much as he used to in the last months, not even in the last years. He was a quiet presence that accompanied the Slytherins, looking as regal and indifferent as Zabini. There were no white grins, no malicious snickering, not even when Crabbe managed to trip Neville during Potions and the boy’s cauldron spilt all over the floor, and all the Slytherins laughed.

There was only a reaction when Seamus yelled at them, threatening to curse Crabbe. A dark look fell on his eyes, and his mouth curled into a snarl as he told Seamus to bugger off. It was the first time Harry had heard his voice in weeks, but he didn’t have much of a chance to hear it again, because Snape stepped in and started berating Neville. 

Draco kept writing to his parents, judging from the letters he received at breakfast every few days. Harry anxiously waited for the moment the owls flew over them because when Draco looked down at his letters, a small smile would grow on his lips.

\---

On the 27th, Bagman explained the Third Task for the champions, and Harry explained it to his friends. Hermione had looked serious then, because a maze could involve a lot of different things.

“How bad could it be?” said Ron.

“Very bad,” answered Hermione. “So we have to be ready.”

She had come out with a schedule, because of course she did, for practising spells and running laps around the school. _'Exercise is important Ronald, you can't take a broom everywhere!'_

They went to the library in order to find spells that could be of use inside the maze. Hermione had a long list of books and send Harry to get them, while she asked Pince about using the restricted section and Ron happily saved them a table.

Harry walked through the many shelves silently, periodically checking the list to see if any of the titles were around. He had just found one of them when a familiar voice reached his ears.

"I just don't understand _why_ , Pansy," said Zabini, voice as neutral as ever, if not slightly tired. 

"He doesn't need to talk to him, Blaise," hissed Parkinson. "He is doing _fine._ "

Harry carefully followed their voices, coming to stand in the pathway of shelves behind theirs, the books hiding him from view. 

"Easy for you to say," scoffed Zabini. "You don't have to hear him. I barely slept last night. Do you know how easy I get eye bags?"

"Poor you," said Pansy without a sliver of sympathy. "He just needs time, Blaise."

"It's been _three months_ , Pansy," said Blaise. "And he's getting worse. I think even his parents have noticed, last week-"

His voice went softer, as if whispering, and Harry moved some books to spy between them. Parkinson's back was to Harry, as she studied the shelf before her, hands pulling out books and stuffing them back. But Zabini, who had leaned closer to talk to her, was fully facing him, and his dark eyes caught Harry’s behind the shelf. Harry stepped back, knowing he had been found, and expecting Parkinson to come from around the shelf and rip his head off.

But to Harry’s confusion, Zabini didn't call him out, nor warned Parkinson. Harry went back to spy between the books and saw Zabini giving Parkinson an expectant look, probably waiting for her to react to whatever he had said.

"This is all Potter's fault," hissed Parkinson, waving a book in frustration. "I should turn him into a frog and drop him inside a cauldron."

"I think," said Zabini, his voice slightly raised. "That Potter should talk to him."

Both Harry and Parkinson reeled back.

"No way," refused Parkinson, turning to frown at Zabini.

" _Draco_ wants to talk to him," pointed Zabini. “He said so himself.”

" _Draco_ is being stupid," retorted Parkinson. "He just needs time to realise that it was all a big mistake."

Zabini sighed. "Do you really think he will? He keeps brooding all day." His eyes flickered to Harry’s briefly, and a sly grin grew on his lips. “Pansy, remind me again what he said when you told him you had caught Skeeter?"

Parkinson smacked her head against a shelf. "Shut up, Blaise," she said, sounding tired.

"No, he didn't say that. He said," Zabini clasped his hands, " _Can you let him know, Pans? I don't want him to worry,_ " he said on a bad imitation of Draco's voice that still managed to make Harry's heart stop. 

"He is just being a moron, alright?" said Parkinson. "It will pass. And I'm not letting Potter near him so he can ruin everything.” She took out a book, and tapped it with a hand. “This conversation is over."

She walked away, but Zabini threw Harry one last look before going after her. The same one he had thrown at him after giving him a copy of the Daily Prophet. _'I trust you will fix this for me.'_

\---

Harry deposited the books on the table loudly, making the students from other tables give him nasty looks. 

"What took you so long, Harry?" asked Hermione, not really looking at him as she checked the many books he had brought back.

"What took him so long?" repeated Ron, giving her a bewildered look. "Hermione, the list you gave him was longer than my last Charms essay," Ron chuckled, his eyes going to look at Harry. His smile immediately died. " _No._ "

"What?" asked Harry as he sat down. 

"You have that look in your eyes again, the one you have before you want to do something stupid," said Ron. "I'm gonna regret asking this, but what is it now? If it's following more spiders, I'm out."

Harry looked at his friends, feeling his resolve growing by the second. "I'm going fix everything,” he said. “I'm going to get Draco back."

Ron groaned and dropped his head on the table, but Hermione's eyes sparkled. 

"Really, Harry?" she said. When he nodded, she gave him a bright smile. "That's wonderful."

"No, it's not," complained Ron.

"Don't listen to him, Harry. I support you," said Hermione, waving Ron off. "And so does Viktor."

Ron raised his head, looking sour. "What does Krum has to do with any of this?" he muttered.

"He's been concerned about you two," explained Hermione. "When I told him you weren't talking anymore he was very upset"

"Really?" asked Harry. "Why?"

Hermione gave him a soft smile. "He said that two people that look at each other the way you do shouldn't be kept apart."

Harry flushed at the words, while Ron gagged, making Hermione smack him in the arm and call him a git. Harry’s heart beat again, and he felt himself brimming with determination; he was going to fix everything, no matter what.


	20. June 5, Monday: An Expected Meeting

During the next few days, Ron was dragged into what he called the _‘Plan To Woo Malfoy Which I Don’t Want To Have Any Part In”_. Apart from training spells for the Third Task, Harry and Hermione would also discuss what Harry should do, and Ron would have to listen to them and complain the entire time.

Harry began trying to catch Draco’s attention, either by holding his gaze or smiling at him. It was extremely hard because the blond avoided even looking in his direction most of the time. The first time he managed had been during Potions on Friday. Their eyes had met across the room, over the fumes of a cauldron, and, before the grey eyes could leave again, Harry smiled. It was brief and probably very awkward, but it worked. Draco blinked at him, before looking down at his cauldron again. It wasn’t something huge, but it did feel like a change, and Harry had already known it would take time. And he was ready for that.

But then Fay had approached them at the common room that same night. She gave them an uncertain smile when they looked up at her. 

“Hello, guys,” she greeted, before turning to look at Harry. “Liste, Blaise asked me to ask you if you have already bought something for Monday, or if he is going to have to hex you?”

Harry furrowed his eyebrows, “What?”

“I’m assuming that’s a no.” Fay laughed. “Well, good luck, Harry,” she said, before leaving to join her friends.

“Monday, it’s the fifth,” mused Hermione. “The fifth of June. And if it’s Zabini then this has to be about _him_ -” Her eyes widened as she turned to look at Harry.

“His birthday,” they said at the same time, in terror.

Ron looked at them in confusion. “What’s the big deal? Just sneak to Hogsmeade tomorrow and get him something. Like a vial of poison.”

“He can’t just buy him _something_ , Ron,” said Hermione. “It has to be something _nice._ ”

“Buy him a _nice_ vial of poison then,” suggested Ron.

\---

Sometimes, buying a gift isn’t as hard as giving it. This hadn’t been one of those times. Both had been hard. He had spent an entire afternoon in Hogsmeade, somehow not being caught by any teacher, before making a choice. 

Then, today, he had walked all day with it on his bag, looking for an opportunity to deliver it.

Draco had received a package during breakfast, undoubtedly from his parents. Instead of latching at the gift, like Ron would have done, Draco opened his letter first. His eyebrows had furrowed, in something akin to concern. His examination was interrupted by Goyle, who smacked him on the back energetically, effectively distracting him. 

Since breakfast wasn’t an option, unless he felt like subjecting himself to spell damage by Parkinson, he tried to approach him during Care of Magical Creatures. But Hagrid was still having them take care of Nifflers, which were cute, but also liked to run around stealing stuff, making one having to chase after them.

Then he had seen him on his way to Divination, but Harry’s approach had been ruined by a fast and vicious Pansy Parkinson, who directed Draco in another direction, while Zabini watched with wry amusement. Harry had spent the class glaring daggers at the crystal ball, and telling Trelawney he saw Death on it when she asked, to her delight.

The idea to check the map had come from a place of desperation, but it had been brilliant. Because Draco Malfoy was on his way to the owlery, _alone_. He ran out of the attic as soon as the class ended, and through the halls

The stairs weren’t slippery as he hurried up them, the snow long gone. He slowed down by the top because it occurred to him that this would be their first conversation after what happened in February. Feeling suddenly nervous, Harry gave himself some time to prepare. 

It was then when a familiar chirp broke the silence.

“I’m afraid your owner isn’t here,” answered Draco, and something about the way his voice sounded made Harry take the final steps.

The blond’s back was to him, as he looked up at Hedwig, whose yellow eyes looked back from her spot on the wall. Draco’s shoulders sagged a little, as a small sigh left him. 

Before Harry could make his presence known, the blond turned around, and their eyes met again, startling both of them. 

"Harry," whispered Draco, and Harry noticed his eyes were slightly red. 

"Er, hi," said Harry.

"Right." Draco looked away. "I was just leaving," he said, making way the door.

"I'm sorry," blurted out Harry.

Draco blinked at him. "Potter-"

"The reason I didn't tell Hermione and Ron wasn't shame. That would be ridiculous because you are-" Harry stammered. "You are wonderful."

Draco kept looking at him with pained eyes.

"I was afraid of how they would react. But I was being a coward," said Harry. "And I ended up hurting you and for that, I'm sorry." He gave Draco an earnest look. "I'm so sorry, Draco."

The blond shook his head. "Harry, I can't," he whispered.

Harry felt his eyes burning, "I- I understand."

"No, you don't," said Draco, and Harry's head sagged to the floor.

And there were soft hands on his shoulders, directing him to look into sad grey eyes. 

"I'm sorry too," whispered Draco. "You weren't a mistake. I was just scared, and stupid."

"I was stupid too," said Harry, daring to hope, but Draco shook his head sadly. 

"But I can't be with you, Harry," said the blond, unshed tears threatening to spill from his eyes. "I have duties as a son, and I can't leave them behind."

He stepped back then, looking as sad as Harry felt. And Harry wanted to argue, to tell Draco that family shouldn't be above one's happiness, that he should be free to do as he wanted, that Sirius had been fine-

But did he really want that for him? Sirius hadn't spoken much of his family, only enough for Harry to know he had grown strained from it, but whenever he did talk about it, it was with bitterness and hatred. 

And Harry knew how much Draco cared about his family. He saw it in every letter he wrote, in the smiles when he read through the replies, in the gifts he sent to his mother. He couldn't just ask him to leave it all behind.

Draco looked as if he wanted to cry, "Harry, I'm sorry."

"I understand," said Harry, as much as it pained him to do so, because he could at least try to make the other feel better. "But, we can still be friends, right?"

Draco blinked at him. "Friends?"

"Yes," said Harry, smiling at him. "Unless you want us to go back to hating each other's guts."

"I don't think I could," mumbled Draco.

"See? It's decided, then." Harry awkwardly patted his shoulder, before taking out a box from his bag. He rolled his eyes when the other didn't grab it and pushed it into his hands. "Happy birthday, Draco."

Draco gingerly opened it, taking out the scarf. It was blue, and Harry had bought it because he thought it would look good with his pretty eyes. But he couldn't say that now.

"I bought it for the cold," he said instead.

Draco looked at him. "Harry, it's _summer._ "

"It's Scotland," retorted Harry. "Summer doesn't exist."

The blond laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners and making Harry's chest feel warm. And at that moment it occurred to him that if Draco was happy, then it would be fine.

\---

"So that's it," finished Harry, wiping his eyes for the 10th time. 

"That sucks, mate," said Ron, through a mouthful of toffees. To his credit, he did look kind of sad. 

Hermione, on the other hand, was fuming. "What do you mean _that's it_?"

"Hermione, there's nothing I can do," said Harry. "If I insisted, and we got together, his family would be upset at him, and he would be upset too. I don't want to hurt him."

" _Purebloods_ " muttered Ron. "So complicated."

"Harry, you like him," said Hermione.

"Yes, but-"

"And he likes you," continued Hermione. "Can't you see? He is already hurting."

"His family-"

"For God's sake, Harry," hissed Hermione. "When have you ever let something as minimal as traditions stop you?"

Harry blinked at her.

"Didn't you go after a murderer last year? And didn't you help him escape when you found out the truth?"

" _Hermione_ , we can't say that!" hissed Ron, looking around to check the common room was empty.

"Didn't you go into the sewers to fight an honest-to-god _basilisk_?" continued Hermione. "Didn't you fight against a _teacher_ in our first year?"

"Yes, alright, I did, but what does that have to do with anything?" asked Harry. 

Hermione put her hands on his shoulders. "Harry, if someone can find a way to overcome all this, it's you" she smiled. "With our help, of course."

Ron looked at her in bafflement, before letting out a laugh. "You know what? What she said," he shook his head. "I mean, are you really going to let _Lucius Malfoy_ and _bloody traditions_ get in your way?"

Harry frowned. "No, I'm not." He stood up. "I'm not. I'm giving it a try."

"You are not trying. You are doing it" stated Hermione. 

"Yes, alright," said Harry. Then he looked confused, "And how do I do it?"

"You need to sweep him off his feet," said Hermione, looking at him very seriously. "A grand gesture."

"Like flowers?" tried Ron.

"Bigger," said Hermione. "Something that tells him how much he matters to you. Something that makes him want to try."

A million ideas passed through Harry's head, until one jumped to the front, sparkling and promising. 

"I got it!" he exclaimed, grinning at his friends. It would be special, and grand. Something unique in a lifetime, and terribly valuable.

"I'm winning the Triwizard Cup for him."


	21. June 24, Sunday: A Grand Gesture

For the few weeks he had before the Task, Harry would spend his afternoons practising spells with Hermione and Ron, or, unexpectedly, running laps around the school with Krum. The older student had offered to help, through Hermione, but he had also told Harry that he wouldn't make things easier for him.

"It's a trial," had grunted Krum, looking as serious as ever. 

Harry hadn’t really pegged him for a romantic, but appearances can be deceiving.

He also spent time with Draco, returning to their tranquil habit of writing essays for Snape to be sour about. The owlery wasn't freezing anymore, but they had moved their business to the library. There had been a few surprised looks, and one time Neville had even approached their table, and nervously asked Harry if he was alright. 

“No, he’s not,” had said Draco indifferently, not even looking up from his essay. “He’s been _Imperiused."_

It had taken a few minutes to convince Neville that he was not under any sort of spell, and even after that, he kept sending them nervous furtive glances.

“You are such a git,” said Harry as they left the library. 

Draco only shrugged. “It’s not my fault he is so easy to fool”. He leaned closer to Harry with a complicit grin. “Did you notice he spent the entire time reading a book on Mediterranean Plants?”

Harry frowned. “There’s nothing wrong with that”

“Let me rephrase that,” said Draco. “Did you notice he spent the entire time reading a book on Mediterranean Plants _upside-down_?”

The blond snickered at Harry’s bad attempt to repress a laugh, which resulted in Harry laughing anyway. There were more weird looks sent towards them, but Harry didn’t mind at all.

Parkinson had given him a really nasty glare the first time he greeted Draco at class and kept doing so every day after that. Zabini had told him that she would warm up to him. Harry thought Zabini was a rotten liar but figured he wouldn't tell him that.

\---

When the day of the Task finally arrived, Harry felt prepared enough. He had still wanted to practice more, alone, since Ron and Hermione would be busy with their exams, but she had said he would only tire himself.

Harry figured he would read all morning, then, but McGonagall had shown up and directed him to a side chamber, telling him his family had come to see him. Instead of the Dursley’s, he had been pleased to find Mrs Weasley and Bill waiting for him. 

They spent a lovely morning walking around the grounds, enjoying the warm weather of June. Mrs Weasley mentioned Percy’s job and then changed the subject to the Yule Ball. Harry smiled at her broadly and thanked her again for the robes.

The woman smiled kindly at him, “Did you have a good time?”

“Terrific,” said Harry.

\---

Ron had been surprised to see his mom and Bill when they gathered back at the Great Hall for lunch. Then he had grown pale when she asked him about his exam. Fred, George and Ginny joined them as well, and, after a while, so did Hermione.

Seeing Mrs Weasley stiffen, Harry assured her that the article that Skeeter had written after the First Task had been rubbish.

“Hermione is not my girlfriend,” said Harry.

Ron snorted into his juice. “Not _Hermione_ , no.”

Hermione smacked him lightly in the arm. 

“Ron!” hissed Harry, feeling his face warm up. But the damage was already done.

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?” asked Fred, exchanging an amused look with George.

“Yeah, Harry. What’s up with _that_?” chimed in his twin.

Mrs.Weasley looked surprised. “Harry, dear, are you seeing someone?”

“He wishes- _Ouch_!” Ron’s snickering stopped when Harry kicked him under the table.

\---

They gathered again during dinner after Ron and Hermione had finished their exams, and Harry, Bill and Mrs Weasley had taken another walk around the grounds. In which the woman kept asking Harry about his girlfriend, and Harry kept telling her there was no such girlfriend. Which was true. 

The twins kept sending amused looks at Harry over dinner, wiggling their eyebrows, making Ron snicker. Harry frowned at him and looked away, his gaze freely wandering towards the table. Harry was glad he wasn’t drinking pumpkin juice because Draco was looking at him. The blond pointed towards the door discreetly, and Harry, who had been looking for a chance to talk to him all day, excused himself from the table.

“That was kinda weird,” said Ginny, as he left. 

“He did the same thing during Yule” snickered Ron. And then he yelped. “Hermione!”

Their voices grew distant, as Harry passed by the tables, following after Draco. He caught up to him just outside the Hall, where they had met during Yule. The blond was wearing his blue scarf and seemed a bit nervous.

“Are you ready?” he asked when Harry came to stand by him.

Harry nodded firmly. “Quite ready,” he said with a grin. “I’m going to win”.

Draco raised an amused eyebrow. “Careful, Potter, you might float away with that inflated ego."

Harry laughed. “Did I ever tell you about the time I made my aunt float?”

“You certainly didn’t,” said Draco, sounding slightly impressed. “But that will have to wait until after the Task.” He grinned at him. “I wanted to wish you good luck, but it seems like you won’t need it. You are going to win, right?”

“I am,” said Harry. “I promise.”

Draco nodded, his eyes going a bit softer. “I know you won’t need luck,” he said, sounding a bit hesitant. He reached for Harry’s shirt wordlessly and Harry looked up at him, coming to find that the scarf really did bring out his eyes. There was a click and Harry looked down at his shirt, finding a small round object firmly pinned just below his heart. The constellation sparkled as if greeting him.

“This is yours,” said Harry in confusion.

Draco fixed his shirt, “And I expect you to return it safely,” he said sternly. “It’s quite valuable for me.”

“I will,” promised Harry, smiling up at the blond. “I should have brought the badge you made too.”

“Are you still going on about that?” asked Draco in amusement. “Do you like it that much?”

Harry looked at him in the eyes. “I do.”

The blond blinked at him, opening his mouth to speak. But the voice of Bagman, calling the competitors to the Entrance, reached their ears. Draco took a step back. “Be careful, Harry” he said before making way to the Great Hall again.

Bagman, followed by Cedric, Fleur and Viktor, came to find Harry standing just by the door. 

“Harry, there you are,” said Bagman. “Feeling alright? Confident?”

“Er, yes, sir,” said Harry, excusing himself to the back of the group as they walked down the grounds.

Viktor came to walk beside him, and his serious eyes shone when they noticed the pin on Harry’s shirt. He clasped a hand on his shoulder, giving him a strong squeeze. “Good,” he grunted. “Very good.”

\---

As Bagman pronounced the scores so far, Harry looked around the crowd for friendly faces. Halfway up the stands, Mrs Weasley, Bill, Ron and Hermione sat, waving at him when they saw him looking. He waved back, grinning broadly, and let his gaze wander again. 

Towards the back, a group of Slytherins sat. Parkinson wore a _‘Down With Potter’_ badge, probably for the first time in the year, and frowned at him. Sitting next to her, Draco sent him a grin, and Harry grinned back. 

Bagman signalled him and Cedric to take their places, and enter the maze. He threw one last look over his shoulder, but instead of another grin, he found Moody, giving him an intense look, and pointing to his right.

\---

As he stood just in front of the Cup next to Cedric, Harry noticed the loss of the comforting weight on his shirt. He looked down, and to his horror, the pin was gone. Before he could try summoning it, a hand was extended towards him, the pin resting safely on it.

“I think you dropped this,” said Cedric, smiling at him.

Harry sighed in relief, as he saved the pin on his pocket. “You saved my neck.”

“You did too,” laughed Cedric. He then looked longingly at the cup, “You should grab it.”

“What?” asked Harry. 

“You could have left me behind,” explained Cedric. “So, grab it, hurry.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest, to tell Cedric he should grab it, or that they should grab it together. But, “I promised someone I would win,” he confessed, feeling uncertain “Are you sure it’s alright?”

Cedric's eyes widened. “ _Someone_ , huh?” He laughed and took another look at the cup. He sighed and then smiled at Harry. “I’m sure. You did save me, and, it’s a victory for Hogwarts anyway, right?”

He extended his hand to Harry, who shook it firmly. They nodded at each other, and with that last confirmation, Harry grinned and went for the Cup.

\---

The jump back was just as harsh, and Harry fell to his knees before the stands. There was dirt on his mouth, and grime on his face, from the soil of the graveyard. The cheering of the crowd was loud, but muffled to him, as his mind kept reeling back what just had happened.

He looked up, searching for anyone to tell. Dumbledore was making his way to him, face set on a harsh line. Behind him, he could see the crowd slowly realising something was wrong, the music hesitantly pausing, concerned looks starting to be exchanged. From the front, Fleur and Cedric exchanged a glance, and rose to their feet, Viktor remained seated behind them, giving Harry a blank look.

“He’s back,” said Harry, when Dumbledore reached him and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Voldemort is back,” he repeated.

Fudge reeled back. “Impossible,” he blurted. “That can’t be.”

“He is back!” insisted Harry, the rush of the events making him raise his voice. “The Cup was a portkey, and-”

There was a sudden scream, stopping Harry’s words and making them turn towards the crowd, finding Viktor Krum wrestling with Cedric, punching him repeatedly, while Cedric’s father and Fleur tried to push him away. Soon there were many many people from the crowd making their way down, trying to drag the two champions away from each other. Karkaroff started yelling, a scuffle breaking between the crowd.

Dumbledore’s hand on his shoulder left, and another grabbed Harry by the arm, its owner dragging Harry away from the chaos and limping towards his office.

\---

When Harry was finally led to the Hospital Wing, after he retold the events for Dumbledore, he was completely exhausted, mind numb and body sore from the moment he came back from the courtyard. Sirius walked beside him, a comforting presence he was grateful for. 

Madame Pomfrey didn’t comment on the dog accompanying him, merely leading him to a bed and placing a Sleeping Draught on his hands. Harry placed his glasses on the table and stared at the vial for a while. Sirius barked at him, probably telling him to take it. 

So, Harry did, immediately feeling his body relax, eyelids heavy and begging to be closed. Before losing consciousness, he reached into his pocket, hands closing on the small pin and taking it out. It was dirty, the soil and grim having reached it through the cloth and darkened its face. But the constellation still twinkled at him when he held it up, clear and bright. Harry closed his hand around it and held it close to his chest, falling soundly asleep.


	22. June 25, Monday: Their Start

The first time Harry woke up, it was to a loud discussion, as Fudge and McGonagall barged in the Hospital Wing. Despite Dumbledore’s words, Fudge was unrelenting, not listening to the Headmaster, nor Harry, not even Snape. In the end, the Minister stormed off after disregarding all the events that transpired last night, and Dumbledore was quick to start making arrangements. Harry went to sleep again, feeling even more tired.

The second time he woke up, it was on his own volition. The morning light had already started to pour from the windows, and silence ruled over the Hospital Wing. He grabbed his glasses and noticed the sleeping figures of his friends, sitting on chairs and leaning onto the other. 

He was fiddling with the small pin, enjoying the peace of the room, when he heard the door open, followed by two sets of steps quickly approaching. 

“Mr Malfoy!” came Madame Pomfrey’s shrill voice. “You can’t just barge in like that!”

Harry sat up immediately, already looking at the screen hiding his bed before it was pulled aside harshly by an agitated Draco.

“Harry,” he breathed out, sounding as if he had been running. His hair was in disarray, and his face was paler than usual, which was saying a lot. His grey eyes quickly studied Harry, before the blond’s tensed shoulders sagged in relief. “You are alright.”

Before Harry could say anything, the blond seemed to remember something and hurried to his side. Not even a second later, Madame Pomfrey appeared. Her angry expression quickly turned into one of confusion, as she noticed Harry was awake, and not bothered by Draco’s presence. Her eyes looked between them, understanding crossing her features before she let out a sigh. 

“Oh, fine!” She raised a finger towards Draco, “Don’t ever barge in like that again, Mr Malfoy,” she warned, before disappearing behind the screen.

Draco scoffed at her and then sat next to Harry. The relieved expression on his eyes hardened as he noticed his bandaged arm and the scratches on his face. “What happened?” he demanded, grabbing one of Harry’s hands between his. “No one would tell us anything, they just whisked you away.”

The grey eyes were solely focused on him, with a mix of fear and anticipation. Harry looked down at the hands grabbing his, marvelling at the stark contrast between the pale delicate hands holding his soiled one. Harry placed his other hand over them, despite the pain on his arm, and told Draco everything. 

The blond listened to him quietly, his eyes flashing anger when Harry explained his injury, fear when he explained everything else, his hands squeezing Harry’s tightly when he mentioned his parents. 

After finishing, Harry fell silent, looking at the blond expectantly. Draco stayed quiet as if taking everything in. He looked troubled, but there was no mistrust on his eyes, and that relieved Harry.

The blond looked pained when Harry pulled his hand back, and then confused when Harry grabbed his instead and placed something inside. He blinked at the pin before looking up at Harry again.

“I’m sorry, it’s a bit dirty,” said Harry, smiling at him. “But I brought it back.”

Draco stared at him, something flashing on his eyes. “You _idiot,_ ” he whispered, and then he dropped the pin on the bed and cupped Harry’s face, crashing their lips together.

Harry froze, his eyes widening in surprise. Despite the sudden start, the other’s lips were soft but insistent on his still chapped ones. Before Draco could pull away, Harry brought a hand to his face and pulled him closer, his eyes shutting as he kissed him back. It wasn’t slow, like the one they shared at the owlery, it was deeper, like the breath Harry took after breaking through the lake’s surface. It felt like coming back, and it made Harry smile into the other’s lips. One of Draco’s hands came to rest on his shoulder, slightly tensing around it, and his lips turned pliant.

A sudden fake cough startled them apart, and Harry felt his face heat up, as he looked away from Draco and towards his now awake friends. Ron looked extremely uncomfortable, and Hermione's eyes were wide. Her hand was over her mouth, her eyes flickering between Ron and Draco’s startled faces, and Harry realized she was trying not to laugh. 

“ _Malfoy,_ ” muttered Ron.

“ _Weasley,_ ” replied Draco coldly, his hand still on Harry’s shoulder. “Granger,” he added stiffly.

Hermione grinned. “Good morning, you two,” she said as she stood up. “Ron and I were just leaving.”

“We were?” asked Ron before looking at Draco and Harry again. “We were. Yes, we are just going to go.” He stood up. “See you later, mate," he said to Harry. Then he looked at Draco and pointed a finger at him. “For the record, I don’t like you."

Draco eyes narrowed, but before he could say anything, Hermione started dragging Ron away. “Leave them, Ron,” she said, then grinning at Harry. “See you later."

Harry watched them leave, hearing their steps disappearing down the room. When he turned to look at the blond again, he found him looking a bit confused. 

“I didn’t notice they were here,” confessed Draco, eyes fixed on Harry again. 

“They have been here all night,” explained Harry.

Draco hummed. “You have loyal minions, Scarhead”.

“They aren’t minions,” laughed Harry. “They are friends. Like you-” He paused. “Are we friends?”

The blond looked at him as if he were stupid, “Harry, I just _kissed_ you,” he said slowly. “Are you forgetting things? Should I call Pomfrey?”

“I wouldn’t forget that,” said Harry. “But, Draco, you said we couldn’t-”

“Harry,” cut in Draco, grabbing him by the shoulders. “I couldn’t sleep all night because of you. When I saw you down there, I knew something had happened, but then you disappeared and no one knew anything- I couldn’t sleep at all.” Draco’s voice trembled, as he gave him an intense look. “Do you understand?”.

“But Draco, your family.” Harry remembered another pair of grey eyes he had seen last night. “Your father-”

Draco placed a finger on his lips, “I know” he said. His hand cupped Harry’s face as he looked sadly into his eyes. “I know it’s not going to be easy, Harry, but I want to try.” He gave him an uncertain look. “Do you?”

“Yes,” blurted Harry, and then “I wanted you to want to try, too.”

The blond blinked at him.

“I wanted to win the cup for you,” explained Harry, “I thought that maybe I could change your mind.”

“So you wanted to _woo_ me,” said Draco, raising an eyebrow.

Harry flushed. “Yes, but then the cup turned out to be a portkey, and, you know.” Harry sighed “They are probably going to keep it away.”

Draco hummed, “Well, you still won,” he resolved, grinning when Harry looked at him. “Did you forget? You are still the Champion.” His eyes crinkled, as he rested his arms around Harry’s neck. “The first one in two centuries,” he added.

“I guess." Harry grinned back. “And you changed your mind”.

“I did,” shrugged Draco. “Until the next Tournament, perhaps,” he added with another grin.

“Git,” said Harry, but he crossed his arms around his back and enveloped him into a hug. Draco was warm, a comforting presence for him to lean on, and Harry hid his face on the crook of his shoulder and breathed in.

“It’s not going to be easy,” whispered Draco on his ear, as he rested his head on Harry’s.

Harry sighed, knowing it was true. “Well, when has my life ever been easy?” he said, not stopping a grin from growing on his face.

“That’s not funny, Harry,” hissed Draco, but his voice trembled as a shudder went through his body, and through Harry’s too. And they burst into a laugh together, which grew loud enough for Pomfrey to come and yell at them.


	23. June 30, Friday: Farewells

The courtyard was completely packed, as the students from the three schools bid their farewells to their new friends. Harry stood by the wall, along with Ron and Hermione, the three of them watching over the activity.

On one corner, Harry noticed a familiar Durmstrang student, holding a Ravenclaw girl hands between his, as her Slytherin friend frowned at both. Near them, Krum talked to Cedric, both of them sporting fading blackeyes. Krum attempted to bow his head, but Cedric stopped him and offered his hand instead. Harry knew Cedric wouldn’t hold Krum actions under Imperius against him, but he still felt relieved. 

Fleur made way to them, along with her sister, both of them leaning in to kiss Ron in the cheek. The girl then turned to Harry and extended her hand. “I’ve heard, ‘Arry.” She smiled at him, as they shook hands “Good for you.”

Harry felt his cheeks warm. “Er, thanks,” he managed, trying to ignore Ron’s snickering. Fleur beamed, said farewell to Hermione as well, and walked away. “How did she know?” asked Harry to his friends.

“Probably because you are _quite_ obvious,” grinned Hermione.

“Or Krum is a huge gossip,” said Ron. He frowned when he saw said student walking towards them, “What does he want?”

What Krum wanted was to talk to Hermione in private, but before they walked away he turned to Harry. Placing a hand on his shoulder, Krum frowned at him. “Hermione told me,” he said, and then patted him, “Good. Very good."

Harry nodded, without really knowing what he meant, and watched them walk away. Krum did another stop, next to a group of Slytherins. Crabbe and Goyle gaped at him, but Krum placed a hand on Draco’s shoulder. The blond blinked at him, confusion growing on his face when Krum merely nodded at him and kept walking. He looked around, as if looking for an explanation, and noticed Harry looking at him.

“Scarhead,” greeted Draco when he reached them. “Explain to me why Viktor Krum just nodded at me and left. What did I do?”

“Beats me,” shrugged Harry. Then he smiled at the blond. “Hi.”

Draco’s eyes softened, grinning back. “Hi.”

“Bye!” said Ron, stepping away from the wall, and from them. 

\---

Harry frowned at the chessboard in deep thought, before moving to pick up one of the pieces.

“Not that one,” warned a posh voice next to him. 

Across the small table of their compartment, Ron groaned. 

“Sod off, Malfoy,” muttered Ron. He frowned at Harry, “Why does he have to be here?”

“Because I’m not going to see him all summer?” answered Harry with amusement. He turned to Draco, “Which one, then? The knight?”

Draco scoffed, “Merlin, you are hopeless.” He studied the board carefully. “Pick the tower. No, not that one- Oh, just let me.” He moved the piece and grinned. “Your turn, Weasley.”

“I hate you,” said Ron, studying the board. “Alright, so he is here because you will miss him for some unknown reason. I get that. But why are _they_ here too?”

“Because I refuse to listen to Greg and Vincent talk about Krum the whole ride,” said Parkinson, who sat on the other side of Draco with an annoyed expression. Her _‘Down With Potter’_ badge still pinned to her jumper.

“And I’m watching the fruits of my labour,” said Zabini, sitting on the other side of Hermione and looking at the book the girl was reading. “A romance novel? I didn’t peg you for the type, Granger.”

“Viktor recommended it to me ” answered Hermione, without looking up. “I figured I would give it a try. So far it’s quite good.”

Ron gaped at her. “Viktor Krum reads romance novels? What-”

“Stop trying to distract us, Weasley,” cut in Draco. “It’s your move.” The blond watched as Ron made to move a piece. “Oh, _that_ one?”

Ron studied him carefully. “You are not fooling me, Malfoy. Your Slytherin antiques won’t work on me!” he declared with a triumphal smile as he moved the piece.

“Really?” said Draco, a smirk growing on his face. “Because you just moved that pawn, when you should have moved your bishop.”

The smile on the ginger’s face dropped, as he looked down at the board. Harry asked Ron if he was glad to finally have someone to play against and a pawn flew towards his face. 

The door to their compartment opened suddenly when Draco and Ron were on their third game. Fay Dunbar paused as she looked at them, clearly surprised.

"Oh, sorry. Wrong compartment,” she said. Then, an idea seemed to cross her mind, because she pointed at Draco. “Is your birthday on the 5th of June, by any chance?”

Draco blinked at her. “Yes?”

Fay snapped her fingers and looked at Harry. “I see you agreed with what I said,” she grinned at him.“It’s funny because your friend there was all angry about it.”

“What?” Ron frowned at her before realisation crossed his face. “It’s _your_ fault! All of this!” he accused. 

Fay only laughed at him, exchanged a greeting with Zabini and walked away. 

“What did she mean?” asked Draco, looking at Harry with a raised eyebrow.

“Er, House confidentiality?” tried Harry. When Draco kept looking at him, he relented. “Fine, there was-” He paused and looked at Parkinson. Then he pulled Draco closer to whisper on his ear. 

“That’s _rude_!” protested Parkinson.

The blond listened carefully, and let out a surprised laugh. “I wasn’t expecting that. I’m going to need names.”

“I honestly don’t remember them,” said Harry, “Just yours.”

“Flattery,” mused Draco. He directed Harry a white grin. “Keep it up. Do you agree with what they said?”

“Not really,” shrugged Harry, receiving a dark look in answer. “I like you better when you talk."

Ron and Parkinson gagged, even worse when Draco smiled at Harry and pulled him into a chaste kiss. A chess piece hit Harry on his head, and Draco broke away to frown at Ron and remind him it was his turn to move. 

Harry leaned on the window, watching as his best friend and his _boyfriend_ , he was not used to the word yet, kept insulting each other over chess. A pleased smile crossed his face, as he wondered if it was possible to freeze a moment forever. 

\---

“I expect you to write to me,” demanded Draco, for the 30th time. Behind him, Parkinson and Zabini exchanged an annoyed look from outside the compartment. 

“I will,” promised Harry, hearing Ron groan behind him. “Every day.”

“Don’t be daft. Two times per week will suffice,” said Draco, fixing his scarf. He leaned in to give Harry another peck on the lips, to Ron’s dismay. “See you next term, Scarhead,” he said before he was dragged away by his friends. Harry watched him go.

“Can you stop sighing to yourself every two seconds?” said Ron, giving him a light shove. “It’s getting annoying.”

“Shut up,” said Harry, shoving him back. 

“I still think it’s wonderful, Harry,” said Hermione, finally closing her book and waving it. “I’ll write Viktor about it as soon as I get home. It was really good. I’ll ask my parents to buy the next one.”

“Romance, _yikes,_ ” gagged Ron, then laughed when he received two different smacks. Hermione and Harry shared a look and started laughing too. They stood there for a while, before finally grabbing their things and getting off the train, towards the clustered station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it!
> 
> Part 2 is out now!


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